So yesterday I got trapped in my own shower. At first, I was laughing, because how dumb is that, to get stuck in your own shower? But almost immediately the claustrophobia kicked in, and I started to get very nervous. The door comes off the track all the time, and it’s not a big thing (except for that one time when the door came OFF the track and fell on me, but I survived that). This time, though, the door that always gets hung up did its thing and it messed up the other door, too, so that neither of them would slide more than a few inches away from the wall. It kind of felt like all the air got sucked out of my lungs and I started talking out loud to myself like I would to one of my kids who’s freaking out, Ohhhhh, this will be just fiiiiiiiine! I said, Everything will pop right back into place and you’ll be out of here in just a second! Really! Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. . .
Obviously, I was able to escape, which I almost regretted given how poorly the rest of the day was: kids elbowing each other so they could be the first one in the van; foot stomping and whining and lots of wandering off during the *&%$*&# Valentine making; an epic brawl (pushing and scratching and threats of bodily harm included) between the girls because one “accidentally” closed the others’ tab on the computer; and the crying – dear, sweet, merciful Lord, the crying – about picking up toys, about going to bed, about not getting to go ice skating, about having never been to Disneyland, about shoes and food and tangled hair. I was just all, DUDE, I wish I were still trapped in that damn shower. But then, then I thought how much better it would be if I just threw the kids in there instead, knocked the door back off the track and let them brawl it out, Celebrity Death Match style. Ooooh, or THUNDERDOME! With costumes, natch.
As luck would have it, we are coming up on a three day weekend and the kids are with me! Bring. It. On.