Shower Scenes

Not sure why but our son still has problems with the shower. Tonight we reminded him to take a shower... a few times. "I don't like 'em," he softly said. His honesty caught me off guard. But so did a quick thought: "You don't want to be the stinky boy at school!" Like water from showers he should be taking, the conversation began going down the drain. "I just don't like taking them. They take too much time," he added. So Daddy threatened him... "You don't want me to sit in the bathroom again to make sure you take a shower." Last time that happened, I overheard more than water running as our son casually and comfortably said, "Daddy! You know I got some hair down here!" He wasn't talking about hair in the drain either. And Daddy casually replied, "Really" "Yes Daddy. You know down here on that round thang. Some boys at school call them balls but they don't look like balls 'cause it looks like, you know, one- not two with an "s"." There was a pause, then I heard him step out of the shower. "See Daddy. This-" "Just hurry up and wash yourself man!," Daddy told him with a little more urgency in his voice. Interrupting the memory, Daddy warned him about the little girls at school. Thinking this would give him more reason to embrace t showers. "The little girls at school are gonna talk about you." Shaking his head confidently he replied, "Nah... they won't." "GO TAKE A SHOWER DUDE!" We both shouted. He reluctantly walked to the shower. Head down, saying, "I don't know why everybody make a big deal about showers." After the shower we asked, "Did you brush your teeth?" He threw his hands up in despair. "Take showers. Brush your teeth."

What Looks Like Crazy on An Ordinary Day

Turning forty-one has been fabulous and amusing! I have finally learned to relax and not worry so much about some of the trivial things. Unfortunately, I have had to accept that my metabolism is not as it used to be. I'm not the lean, young girl who could eat everything when I wanted and not have it camp around my mid-section. I remember constantly trying to GAIN weight, as a junior high student. Quite different now. Years ago I could just grab my size when shopping and not worry about trying it on in the store. Now I take several sizes in the fitting room. This is usually how I gauge my weight. Usually, I leave out with my hair sticking up, sweating and leaving every item there.

Recently, I was running late for work. I quietly but quickly grabbed my red shirt and pants from our closet. I didn't want to wake my husband so I used a dim light to see and took my clothes to our bathroom. I put on my pants, but the shirt was a little challenging. I could hear some threads popping as I forced it over my head and arms.

The shirt fought me as I attempted to pull it over my torso. The shirt yelled, "I DON'T FIT YOU!" I'm a fighter, so I was determined to get the shirt on. Until... I began sweating and felt a little dizzy. This was ridiculous! It felt like I had a blood pressure cuff on my body!

Glancing at the clock, I realized I had minutes to get out and head for work. But how was I gonna get out of the shirt? I could barely breathe or move. How in the world did this happen? Sure I'd gained some weight and it fit a little snug but gracious, I could get it on before.

I could feel tears coming. I sucked it up and took a deep breath and tried to pull it up and over my head.

Comedy! After about five minutes of circling around with my arms stuck and eyes covered, I finally got the thing off. Couldn't believe I didn't wake anyone. So I cleaned up, cooled down, stomped on the evil shirt and quickly threw on another one.

On the way out to the garage, I slammed the ripped shirt into the trash! Not to be outdone, I immaturely gave it half a peace sign.

Driving to work, I reflected on the whole ordeal and tried to accept that I had simply blown up. It's life. I collected myself and walked into work...feeling bruised mentally and definitely physically.

Later, when I got home, my eleven-year-old daughter asked me what happened to her red shirt and why was it in the trash.

Yep! I'm crazy.