Some of my best conversations with myself have happened naked. I am a shower person. We have a beautiful corner jacuzzi tub in the master bathroom but I can count on one hand how many times that I have used it for myself. My second grader uses it the most – it is her soaking tub twice a week after gymnastics practice. Fragrant grape bubbles float throughout the upstairs often, carrying sweet sounds of silly songs and splashing. She loves it and is very upset with me that we are going to demolish that tub soon. I want a bigger shower, and you know what they say when “momma ain’t happy…”
Honestly, I always wanted to be a tub person. Tub people seem like calmer people. People who don’t just seek quiet but create quiet. It also seems like a rather luxurious thing to do – wrap your nakedness in sweet water and silence. Listen to the sounds of your body. In my bathroom there is a creamy linen-lined basket filled with bath salts, bath beads, bubble baths…you name it, I have it, packed tight. A baby blue bath pillow is suctioned to one corner followed-up with rows of votive candles ready to be lit. I lit them once. It was a beautiful glow but by the time I climbed in and out of the tub, collecting rubber animals, my-little-ponies and naked Barbies, scrubbed the dark ring of little girl grime, filled up the tub with every last drop of hot water our water heater could boil, I was too tired to take the darn bath.
But I am truly a shower person. I am not patient or calm enough to relax in a tub. I love feeling pulsating water penetrate my thoughts, pelting the tension in my shoulders and drowning out the noise of the outside world. The steam surrounds my body and it is one of the few places that I feel sexy and unmommy-like. Eyes closed, head up, water pouring down and I forget about stretch marks and post baby bellies or the bluish veins behind my knees. I can escape – even just for a few minutes. It is where I go to cry, to hide, to rejuvenate and to refresh. To think.
I loved it when the girls were really little and the three of us would take showers together. We’d pile up the toys and play – and sing at the top of our lungs – until the hot water ran out and our fingers became pruny. My husband was a good sport about sharing his shower time with forgotten naked Barbies hanging off the inside towel bar. (Does anyone’s Barbies have clothes on?) Currently my favorite shower gels are Coconut Frosting and Senorita Margarita by Philosophy. My husband wasn’t sure if he was supposed to suds or savor the Coconut Frosting. The cake recipe on the bottle confused the engineer just a little. There is typically an unusual array of “flavors” in our shower.
So let me switch gears on you just a little and end tonight’s blog with a little shower humor – here is an embaressing shower moment (and if you are expecting something sordid, I’ll apologize now, you are going to be disappointed – I’m pretty open, but there is a limit…) This particular shower story involves out of town guests. My mother-in-law had to use the master shower because every bathroom was being utilized. I didn’t think much of it; everything had been cleaned, fresh towels had been put out, brand new shower “puffs” were hanging in a row. But then she came out of the master bathroom smelling like fresh strawberries and just before she opened her mouth it hit me…I had forgotten to take out the strawberry scented personal lubricant. (If you have to ask what that is for then you don’t take enough showers with your significant other.)
“I like the way your shower gel smells,” my mother-in-law says “but it doesn’t lather worth a darn!”