Picking Sides

When Michael and I were first married we owned a teeny, tiny 2 bedroom house. The total square footage was less than 700 square feet. You can imagine in that limited space, we were lucky to have 1 bathroom. It was a closet of a room, complete with a tub, sink and a toilet. For the first week it had no electrical outlet and in desperation I would plug my curling iron in at the kitchen table and curl my hair in my reflection in the toaster. (I didn't mind too much, there was more room for my ashtray in the kitchen) Michael quickly had an electrician buddy come to the house and help us with our wiring challenges. The bathroom became functional and Michael quickly learned that his turn in the mirror was whenever I was finished.

When the kids began arriving  I barely noticed the one bathroom inconvenience, they were little and we managed, but being a girl I knew that the day would come. The day that would find myself and our 2 daughters negotiating mirror time while Michael and our son begged on the other side of the door for toilet time. I envisioned them opting in desperation to borrow a neighbours loo or pee behind a tree in the yard. Common sense dictated that we eventually would need another bathroom. Actually common sense dictated that a family of 5 in a two bedroom house probably needed more than an extra bathroom.

So we sold our little house and moved into something more suitable. We tripled our square footage and along with it our bathroom count, officially ending our bathroom dilemmas.

There is always a place to pee, a mirror to see in and an outlet to plug a hairdryer or straightener into.

Or there was.

Tomorrow we have two teenager girls who will vie for shower, mirror, sink time, in preparation for highschool appearances. They tried a trial run today. 96 minutes start to finish for KJ. 96 minutes before the door opened and KJ informed Lula the bathroom was all hers. 96 minutes before the fireworks started. 96 minutes before the bathroom trauma started. Arguments over hairdryers and nail polish remover, towels and counter space.

I think they may have forgotten their bathroom roots. I think they have forgotten how grateful they should be that they have a bathroom to share. Perhaps they don't realise how grateful they should be that while they are cat scrapping over eyelash curlers and bobbi-pins, their little brother isn't banging on the other side of the door threatening to pee in their shoes if he doesn't get his turn in the water closet.

What today's trial run taught us is that the girls will need to wake up at 3 am to get all their primping and priming done in time to meet the bus. It taught us that teenage daughters are like cage fighters, sometime you just have to let them battle it out, survival of the fittest style and wait for the hairspray to settle.

More importantly I learned how grateful I am that I have a bathroom of my own.

Note to kids; I will be on the good side of my bathroom door and all of your knocking and pleading will not convince me to forfeit my time. I paid my dues...curled my hair in the kitchen and stood cross legged on the bad side of the door too many times, and you can too!

Spend some moment everyday in reflection of gratitude and happiness. Even if the time found is standing in line for coffee...use is wisely.

Michelle


Did this post brighten your day? make you smile? If so I'd be ever so grateful if you shared it on Facebook or Twitter. Someone else might be in need of a smile - Thanks!

Really, I Don't Mind

Could there be a finer thing than a hobby? A passionate endeavor that provides escape from the "have to's" and the "I need's" of daily life?

 A hobby demands nothing of you except whatever time you have to indulge it and thanks you with serenity, purpose and relaxation. Yes, a hobby is an exquisite thing...the only thing finer is the hobby that keeps your husband occupied...without which, for your hobbies... there would be no time.

Gratitude today for the NHL Playoffs that are affording me many guilt free hours of writing

Drive Time

It takes 18 minutes for me to drive to work. In those minutes I am oblivious to the world beyond my comfort class seating. I crank the radio, I sing as if no one's watching, I belt out the hits like I can carry a tune. I talk back to the radio, I answer the DJ's rhetorical questions. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel with gusto and throw my head back for the high notes. I laugh from my belly. Occasionally I blurt obscenities at the top of my lungs at idiotic drivers and shout instructions to the vehicularily challenged.

Inside my sound proof booth on wheels I let it all out. No one can hear me, no one knows what I'm saying (unless they can lip read at 60km/hr)

Today I wondered what I must look like to those just beyond my factory tint windows. I know that I must look incredibly foolish. If there were in fact a camera recording my 18 minute mental health break it would be first class, grade 'A' YouTube viral material. I realize it, I just don't care. Those 18  minutes do more for me than hours of therapy ever could achieve and well, if in the process, I provide a stoplight's worth of humor and entertainment for some other frantic soul that's just a bonus.

I must express my gratitude for street level therapy. For the record, I also appreciate and am grateful beyond measure that there are no recording devices in my vehicle.