Smudge-Free Fingernails and Peaceful Pottying

I don’t mean to sound crude but all I really want these days is to “potty” in peace. Yes, potty. There I said it. I know, it’s such a juvenile word for an adult to say but that is my wish. I want to be able to sit on a toilet alone and quietly. I’d like to flip through my positive quotations book to keep it light and inspiring. I don’t want two or four sets of eyes staring at me while I go. I don’t want to be answering the telephone. I don’t want to rush through it or be forced to make an emergency stop. Is that too much to ask for?

My entire family must have sixth sense when it comes to me being on the commode. It never fails if my cheeks hit the porcelain; one of my children is coming in with a question or complaint.

A few weeks ago as I was about to wipe my oldest daughter came in. “Mommy, my sister just spilled her orange juice all over the floor and she pulled her straw out of the cup.”  “Can that wait until I’m done in here?” I politely pleaded with my seven year old. The blank stare from her made me realize that in her mind, nothing that vital could linger.

Just days before that incident, the telephone rang as I had gotten comfortable on the throne. Each ring seemed louder and louder. When I clearly wasn’t going to answer the home line, my cell phone began to ring from the night stand. After I finally answered the call, my husband was frantic. “Why didn’t you answer me?” he asked. “I was baking a cake!” I replied frustrated.

Several weeks ago the ladies’ restroom in my office at work was occupied and I couldn’t hold it anymore. The men’s room was empty so I finally resolved to go in there. As I was finishing up, the door knob began to turn and the new guy was starting to walk inside.   “Wait! Someone is in here!” I yelled. “Oh sorry,” he quickly said and shut the door. I swear I thought I locked it. How did he get in? Maybe I had forgotten. Locked doors don’t work in my home with my children anyway. Even at my job, people are bothering me when I need to pee.

The worst recent occurrence was the morning of the smudged fingernails. On that day I couldn’t blame my family or my co-workers for what happened.  It was a rare, wonderful start to the day. My kids were dressed and ready for school earlier than usual. They were sharing and playing with blocks happily. I had fifteen minutes to spare before we had to load the van. “I’ll paint my fingernails,” I said to myself. My poor nails are never given any attention.

I picked out my polish and cleared the kitchen table for my do-it-yourself nail salon treatment. I chose a lovely shade of mauve. My left and right hands looked great when I finished. The girls were still getting along and reading books. Then that weird feeling came over me. My intestine made a loud grumble. The signal came and nearly knocked me over. I had to go to the bathroom. Now!   Fast!

“Crap, my nails are still wet!” I said aloud.
I yelled for my oldest daughter to come over to me.
“I need you to unbutton mommy’s pants,” I said to her.   “And quickly please!”
She looked at me funny but started to comply.

She was having trouble getting them all undone. Of course I had worn three buttons and a zipper on my pants that day. I thought I was going to defecate in my underwear before she finally freed me from my barriers. I rushed over to the nearest bathroom.

Whew, I made it. I smiled.

Then I looked down at my fingernails. They were completely smudged.

I looked at my watch. I let out a huge sigh. Now we were going to be late and my nails look like a tornado had ripped through them.

After shaking my head for a bit, I finally laughed. Sometimes that is what you do to avoid crying over something silly and insignificant.

My quest for peaceful toilet experiences and smudge-free fingernails will have to wait for at least another year. In fact it’s only going to get worse for awhile. We’re in the early stages of potty training my second daughter, my two year old.

Pray for me. Pray for all of us parents and care-givers who do not receive many moments of serenity on the potty throne.