Rub-A-Dub-Dub…. There Went My Time In The Tub

Once there was a time when I spelled luxury : g-a-r-d-e-n t-u-b. Add a few candles, lots of bubbles, a good book, a bar of homemade soap from my own private recipe, and life was good.

When the hot water cooled, I would drain it off, refill the tub, and repeat as often as I wanted. Ah. The memories. The wonderful, relaxation filled memories.

As part of my ritual, I wouldn’t simply just shave my legs. Oh no. I would apply mud mined from exotic locales to my face. And moisturize with oils specifically designed to work miracles on various parts of my anatomy.

Unfortunately, today’s reality usually consists of me begging one of my kids to hang out with Parker for five minutes while I attempt to take the edge off of the damage done by exploding ostomy bags, leaking g-tubes, and the best left unidentified globs that get launched from Parker’s trach.

My showers don’t include enough time to even run a razor over my legs or under my arms. To help rationalize this lack of attention to detail, I tell myself that I am no longer contributing spent razors to the local landfill. Plus the extra layer of fur will help me keep our electricity bill low this winter.

Yup. I’m all about going green and saving the planet.

But in my kids defense, there are times when they come and offer to be on Parker Patrol so I can take a quick shower. This sacrifice on their part also serves as a subtle hint to let me know that they would appreciate not having their Mother embarrass them in front of the friends they just invited over.

I guess Mommy Grunge ain’t as hip as it used to be.

Parker’s baths, on the other hand, seem to go on forever. Actually, by the time I have wrapped, stuffed, gauzed and bagged all of his various stomas (stomi?) forever is pretty accurate.


Many days though, bath time for Parker works in my favor in unexpected ways. Because of Parker’s skill in soaking us both during his tub time, I have been known to count that as my tub time as well.

You may consider that the act of a desperate woman. I call it multi-tasking.

Toe-may-toe. Toe-mah-toe.

Cause at the end of a long and exhausting day, it’s the (wishful) thought that counts.

Well, either that or the strength of your deodorant.

You can also find Tammy and Parker hanging out (and trying to catch a quick shower) at their other blog, Praying For Parker.

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