The other night I did something that was so impractical and selfish it was amazing. Something I have only done a handful of times since living in my home the last fourteen years. I’ve always been held back by the ‘after mess’, and let’s not even discuss the awkward dismount. But Friday I was pushed to the point where I threw caution to the wind.
The pain in my shoulders and neck was excruciating and I realized my only hope was the bathtub. I stumbled through my room, ignoring the leaning tower of laundry on the floral chair and the unmade bed with yesterday’s socks tossed on the floor. Stepping over the morning’s wet towels scattered around my bathroom, reminders that although our children have their own bathroom they still prefer to use ours. I hear this phenomena will expire soon, but for now our shower is where it’s at. I barely glance at the globs of toothpaste reminding me of how real the struggle is, choosing instead to focus on the fact that they brushed their teeth.
My neck is in agony and all I can think of is how utterly relaxing it will be to soak in a hot tub of water with the jets pulsating my weary muscles who have decided to riot. Marching into the closet I pull out a towel, a hand towel for proper pillow placement, and a washcloth. I turn both faucets on full blast since I can’t ever freaking remember which one is the hot and which the cold. I settle in to wait impatiently for the water to turn hot, sipping my ice cold beer I’ve brought along for the special occasion.
I try to ignore the thoughts about how the tub will need to be cleaned when I’m done, and instead set my sights on the thirty minutes of relaxation awaiting me. After selecting the perfect temperature, of scalding, I plug the drain and gather my Clarisonic and face wash. Another item that is often forgotten, mainly because the wait for the water to warm up is above my pay grade at 9 pm at night when exhaustion is calling my name. Rummaging through my drawers I find some face wash, and exfoliating body wash I got as a stocking stuffer years ago. Pulling on my beer one final time I set up shop and descend into the inviting tropical waters.
A sigh of relief passes over me as I take a few moments to relax before turning on the jets. My shoulders a tight ball of agony. With my Clarisonic in hand, paying little attention to which of the two bottles I grab, I judiciously pour the wash onto the brush. It doesn’t take me long to realize, thanks to the searing pain in my eyes, that I did not grab the face wash, but instead had buffed exfoliating body scrub into my eyes.
“HOLY FUCK!” I scream as I try to rinse my eye lids out from the tiny specs of sand currently impaled into them. I grab the towel I was using as a head rest and pat frantically at them, the pain is no longer just in my shoulders. Eventually my eyes settle down to a slow weep and I look like I may have been crying for hours. I settle back and take another long pull from my beer.
Turning my attention from the acid I just washed my eyes out with to the bath I take a deep breathe and revel in the alone time. I can feel the stress slipping away, the muscles loosening up, as I thank the lord my kids are at an age where I can escape for a bath without the constant fear of hearing, “MOM!” I make a promise to myself that I will take advantage of this tub more often, fuck the mess and the awkward dismount. It’s all about the here and now. With my eyes closed and my hand resting on the edge I let out a sigh of relief. Finally my moment of zen.
Until the door is busted open and Marley is barreling down at me with my daughter’s head band in his mouth.
Now I remember why I haven’t taken a bath more than ten times in fourteen years, there’s always something or someone to interrupt my well laid plan.