Gig's up, Dad

So the other day as I sat perusing one of my last few Reader's Digest issues (the subscription expired and I've been clinging to the last few remaining, because who wants to be stuck in the bathroom with nothing to read but shampoo bottle labels?  Not I), I heard the pitter-patter of little feet coming from down the hallway.  I confess, I silently pleaded that they would just run on by.  Although I do enjoy the pictures that get shoved at me through the door cracks- gives me something else to read.  But no.  Silence, and then light knocking. 

I instantly froze.  I know this is terrible, but the bathroom is the one place that I can seclude myself guiltlessly, take time to read, ponder the mysteries of life, warm my feet with the blow-dryer.  You know, ME time.  It's like my own little five-minute day spa.  Sometimes it's even steamy because the bathroom fan is broken.  But most importantly, there's a lock on the door and a boundary that little boys just can't come in when Mom's in the bathroom.  Truly my sanctuary.  So do you even need to ask my answer to the repetetive knocking and pleadings of "Mom!" from the other side?  That's right.  Complete silence.  If they can't hear me, I'm not there.  If they can't see you, you can't see them, right?  Basic rules of children's-hide-and-seek.  Shouldn't the logic transfer?

I recently got tricked into turning the shower off for a true emergency- they had screwed up the channels on the TV by pushing too many buttons on the remote and couldn't get their cartoon back.  Fool me once, shame on you. 

So, as I'm sitting there with my eyes shut, silently pleading that my sweet little boy, who I love with all my heart, will PLEASE think I'm not here and go find another parent to consult, I was flashed back to my childhood days and my understanding was enlightened.

I grew up in a home with six kids (five of which were girls), two parents, and many many outdoor cats that we would sneak in until my mom sniffed them out (someone recently told me that when they went to a nearby college, they heard that my city (if you can call a six-block radius surrounded by the best dirt bike-trails ever and a bunch a sage-brush a city) was infested with stray cats because no-one there would spay or neuter their animals.  On behalf of my family, I would just like to say, you're welcome.).  Anyway, I grew up in a home with many people and limited bathroom space.  So you can imagine the frustration when one would wake in the early morning hours and really need to get in only to have the persistent knocking, whining, and door-knob rattling met by complete silence.  My dad was a bather.  Only he would take FOREVER.  Of course, so did waiting for Christmas, waiting for dinner, or waiting for Hope and Bo to get back together on Days of our Lives so that I could get MY LIFE back, just to give you some perspective.  But seriousely Dad, what were you DOING in there? 

Well, now I know.  He was waiting us out.  And probably perusing Tractor's Weekly while pondering the meaning of life.  Looks like I've taken a page straight out of his Reader's Digest.