A friend told me some employers have in-depth conversations with employees through the walls of bathroom stalls. Maybe business is discussed and problems are solved. At home, nothing good can come from a conversation held between a closed and locked bathroom door. I don’t understand why my family can’t get it. I’m in the bathroom. The Bathroom! THE BATHROOM PLEASE! Give up. Go away! STOP! CEASE! DESIST!
I’m convinced the end of the world will happen while I’m “indisposed.” Everything else does.
“I know that can’t be you, Jamie. Because you’re in bed.”
“But I have to tell you something.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I have an itchy foot.”
“Go to bed.”
“Will you cover me up and watch me sleep?”
“I always do.”
“I know that can’t be you, Nathan. Because you’re in bed.”
“What, what, what!”
“I can’t remember if I brushed my teeth.”
“Please don’t put me through this.”
“Imagining myself alone on a tropical island.”
“Just take a book with you to the bathroom, like everyone else does.”
I notice my children never bother my husband while he is in the bathroom. I can’t figure it out. My theory is that he has worked diligently to convince them he doesn’t know where anything is in our house. Or maybe he has sent them to Mom too many times. I’m jealous. He has a place he can go and have solitude, even if it is the bathroom.
I recently told my husband, “I can’t go to the bathroom by myself anymore. Apparently, it takes a village.”
He laughed and said, “You need a panic room.”
Now I dream of a panic room. Not to protect myself from burglars but to lock myself away from my tantrum throwing children. What else can I do to bring peace to my world? I dream of a place where I can sit and be enveloped in quiet. And maybe drink a cup of coffee while listening to nothing. No complaining, no screaming, no “he did this,” no “she did that,” just wonderful serenity. I wouldn’t even mind having to stare at cans of baked beans as long as it’s quiet.