I hear you knockin', but you can't come in

I can remember, years ago, how angry I would be at Joe when he came home from work and complained about how tough his day was. Yeah, well, so was mine. Being a stay-at-home-mom isn't quite the cakewalk that some seem to think it is or was. "Yeah, but you at least got to drink a cup of coffee," I would snap back at him when he was whining. "And you got to go to the bathroom by yourself!" which was always the conversation ender--he could never top that one.

For years, literally years, I did not go to the bathroom by myself. Someone was in there or wanting in by pounding on the door just as I sat to have, oh, 46 seconds to myself. There was something magical about that door closing that made that teeny room so attractive. And when I finally would sneak away, there always seemed to be a little scratch at the door, and I would crack it open to find Grace trying to escape the madness with me. Sigh. Even the cat thought it to be the place to be.

Those days are long gone as the kids are gone most of the time now, and I find I have lots of alone time. Maybe too much so. AND I can have the bathroom to myself--for hours if I want. It's funny how you forget those kinds of things when your kids grow up. It takes another baby in the house to remind you of those little quirks in day-to-day life that you slowly lose over time.

Now, when I shut the door for a little privacy, a little ginger paw reaches under to remind me of what life used to be--and how absolutely glorious going to the bathroom alone can be. It doesn't take much to make me happy.