Dear Kids...

As I was preparing for our Ladies' Bible study tomorrow, I came across this humorous letter. It fits right in with our chapter 2 of My Heart's at Home book discussing our home being a rest area. And that rest and relaxation includes busy moms!

I'm sure this is what we envision our bubble baths to be all about... candles, lots of bubbles, aromatherapy, maybe some quiet music, low lights...

but do you ever feel like they end up like this?

Dear Kids,
Don’t be alarmed, the world isn’t coming to an end. I am simply taking a bath. It will take about 30 minutes and will involve soap and water. Yes, I know how to swim. Even if I didn’t, forcing myself to drown in a half-inch of lukewarm water is more work than I’ve got energy for (which reminds me, I’m all for science projects, but the next time you want to see if Play-Doh floats, use cold water.)
Don’t panic if I’m not out right on time. I’ve heard that people don’t dissolve in water and I’d like to test the theory. While I’m in the tub, I’d like you to remember a few things. The large slab of wood between us is called a door. Do not bang to hear my voice. I promise that even though you can’t see me, I am on the other side. I’m not digging an escape tunnel and running for the border, no matter what I said awhile ago. I didn’t mean it. Honest.
There will be plenty of time later to tell me about your day. Later means at a time when I am no longer naked, wet, and contemplating bubble gum in the blow dryer. I know that you have important things to tell me. Please let one of them be that you have invented a new way to blow bubbles, not a new way to add gum to your hair.
Believe it or not, shouting “TELEPHONE” through the closed bathroom door will not make the phone stop ringing. Answer it and take a message.
Water makes me wet, not deaf. I can still tell the difference between the sound of “nothing” and the sound of a child playing the piano with a basketball. I can also hear you tattling at the top of your lungs. I am choosing not to answer you.
Don’t call your dad at work and tell him I am unconscious in the bathroom. He didn’t appreciate it last time. He won’t appreciate it this time. Trust me.
No matter how much I would like it, water does not make me forgetful. I remember who you are and why you are grounded. No, you can’t go to Shelby’s house to play. No, you can’t go to Shelby’s house to use the bathroom.
If someone is in our other bathroom, you will just have to think dry thoughts and wait. Unless you have four paws and a tail, do not think of going outside to “water” the lawn. I know the dog does it. The neighbors don’t feel the need to call me when the dog does it.
Do not set the house on fire. Call me if there is an emergency.
Emergencies are:
1. Dad has fallen off the roof.
2. Your brother and/or sister is bleeding.
3. There is a red fire truck in front of the house.
Emergencies are not:
1. Dad has fallen asleep.
2. Someone on TV is bleeding.
3. There’s a red pickup truck in front of our house.
One other thing: Being forced to use the last roll of toilet paper for a towel does not make me happy. It makes me sticky with little white polka dots. In the future, when anything in the bathroom overflows, use a mop to clean up the water instead of every towel in the house. For my sanity’s sake, let’s pretend it was the tub, OK?
No, I don’t want to hear the real story.
Ever.
Especially not while I’m standing in the pool of water you missed.
(P.S. All Play-Doh experiments are canceled.)
Be good. Entertain yourselves. Yes, you can do both at the same time. Try coloring, playing a game, or paying that stack of bills on the coffee table.
I’ll be out soon. Maybe.
Love, Mom