Thursday, September 24

My 90 Seconds

I have a rule. Once a child of mine is a year old, they must learn to fend for themselves for the 90 seconds it takes me to go to the bathroom...alone. With the door to the washroom locked. Don't get me wrong. I wait until all the children are occupied, are happy, and are getting along. Then I get my 90 seconds.

There is something about a door locking that makes my children want to bash that door down. It doesn't matter how quietly I lock that door. They hear the click, and come running. From their side of the door, they start screaming at me to open the door and demanding to know what on Earth I am doing in there. Then they start with the tear down. It starts off as a knock or two. Then anger takes over, and they bash, and bang, and try to rip the door off. All in 90 seconds. My 90 seconds.

I have had serious discussions with the children about respecting the privacy of other people. I have explained that I deserve to go to the washroom without all Hell breaking loose. It makes me tense. I have tried sneaking away to go to the washroom, I have tried announcing my departure. Nothing works. As soon as the door locks, panic kicks in.

The other night after dinner, the children and Dan were eating their dessert. Everybody was happy, everybody was cool. I announced that I was going to the washroom. I said "The first person to knock on the door goes straight to bed. This person does not get a bath. This person does not get a story or a cuddle. They only get to be alone in their bedroom in the dark to think about how naughty they are. Do you understand?" My three little girls nodded earnestly. They didn't want to go to bed.

Off I went to the washroom. I locked the door. Guess what happened? KNOCK, KNOCK. Really?! What is wrong with these children? Why can they not follow basic instructions? Why can't their father run "interference" and help the children? Why do they need me right now?!

I lost it, I was super angry. I yelled in my angriest, sternest voice possible "WHO. IS. KNOCKING. ON. THE. DOOR?!". The reply was "It's me. Guess I have to go to bed and skip doing the bath, reading the stories, and putting the kids to bed". I married a comedian.

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