There seems to be one sacred spot that for a few brief moments breeds beautiful isolation.
A destination for a recluse.
A remote spot where no one's begging me to prepare a snack, to help find a lost toy, to locate the keys, or to return a call.
Complete with steam, it melts the frustrations of the day away and gives back some semblance of what it means to be me exempt of the stress and the chaos of raising little ones.
It's the tub. And, I adore it. Especially in the winter time.
So, you can imagine my chagrin when I found myself knee-deep, literally, in the throws of a "Calgon-Take Me Away" moment only to look up to see my two-year old dare devil daughter about to dive on top of me.
"Jesus Christ!," I yelled while simultaneously ripping out my iPod ear buds. "Jesus, Mary, Joseph and Saint Jude, can't a mama catch some peace?"
And then, she vanished and I realized, there's going to come a day when I long for her to chat with me while I'm in the tub...but today, is definitively not one of those days.
I love my children more than I ever thought imaginable, but today, my adoration for the tub is at the top of the list.
There should be places in the home where children will be zapped similar to an animal with a shock collar if they try to come near. I'm advocating that the tub (while mama is in it) be one of them.
That's not too extreme...is it?