Doodle

In my quest to show the internet that I am task-oriented and focused on results, I am proud to present my new and improved bathroom cabinet.

And, seriously, whatever on the task-oriented stuff. I am a charter member of the why do today what you can do tomorrow club.

But I did finish the bathroom cabinet.

I even have some pink stripes in my hair to prove it.

I’m a little concerned it’s not pink enough.

Anyway, I wanted to share it with y’all because I know that many times I quit reading a blog because it just doesn’t offer enough bathroom cabinet stories. I think to myself, AWESOME BLOG! but needs more bathroom cabinet.

Y’all may notice that there isn’t much in the bathroom cabinet and that is largely due to the fact that prior to this renovation it was far too scary of a place to actually use for anything other than an air cast that P wore on his arm back in 1998 (never know when you might need it again!) and the plastic sitz bath thing that came home with me from the hospital after I had Caroline.

Here’s hoping I never need that again.

Now I have a place to store ALL FIVE of our beach towels, Caroline’s various cough and cold medications, and a basket full of miscellaneous dried-out bottles of OPI nail polish.

Anyone looking for an eight-year-old bottle of “I’m Not Really A Waitress”?

The truth is this is Caroline’s bathroom and she doesn’t use it much right now. She prefers to take a bath in our bathroom which means our antique clawfoot tub is filled to the brim with all manner of plastic fish, a water trumpet, and, at last count, six rubber duckies.

It’s like something you’d see in Better Homes and Gardens.

Anyway, for right now this bathroom is still pretty much mine. I’ve actually redone it three different times since we moved in because it’s a small space that doesn’t overwhelm me. But I adore the black and white toile that’s in there right now and the pink accents are new.

What you can only see a little bit of is a fluffy, pink bathmat that I immediately regretted purchasing because it looks kind of old-fashioned and dated. I bought it anyway because it isn’t that easy to find a pink bathmat, and once it made it into the house Caroline saw it and pledged her undying love and devotion to its Pepto-Bismal shagginess.

She even asked to sleep in the bathroom because the mat was “THE BEST THING” she has ever seen.

We don’t get out much.

At some point, if I find a suitable replacement, that bathmat may have an unfortunate accident and go missing.

Anyway, I figure I better enjoy looking at the bathroom while I can because in about eight years Caroline will hole up in there for days while she examines every pore on her face and experiments with the different ways she can style her bangs, all while yelling at me through the door that I don’t know what I’m talking about and she doesn’t need to pluck her eyebrows.

After all, it’s her legacy.

Our Memorial Day weekend can pretty much be summed up in one word.

Sunscreen.

If that doesn’t sound very exciting to you, then we’re on the same page.

Forget gas prices, it’s the Banana Boat SPF 50 (TEAR FREE!) that’s going to eat away at our discretionary income this summer.

On Saturday, we all hosed ourselves down with sunscreen (SKIN CANCER! AGE SPOTS! PREMATURE WRINKLING! THE OZONE IS A DISTANT MEMORY!) and headed to the neighborhood pool which was filled to the brim with members of the floatie brigade in their swimmie diapers.

I think we all know that those swimmie diapers are nothing more than a placebo to make us feel better. They’re poop catchers at best.

And now that I’ve thought about it in those terms, I feel the need to go bathe in Clorox.

In all honesty, in spite of the lack of swimmie diaper effectiveness, I truly love the neighborhood pool. It provides guaranteed activity and social interaction every single day of the summer, not to mention BEAN AND CHEESE NACHOS at the snackbar. And really what makes you feel better in a swimsuit than eating a big plate of tortilla chips covered in refried beans and cheese?

Especially when you chase the nachos with a Country Cone.

So we kicked off our pool season in a big way. We swam, we jumped off the diving board, we went down the slide, we ate nachos. And by “we”, I mean P and Caroline. Well, except for the nachos. I participated in the nacho eating activity.

By 6:30 that evening, Caroline could barely stand from the exhaustion. When it comes to the pool, she doesn’t ever want to stop. She’ll literally swim until her legs give out on her, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing because she will fall into bed and sleep for twelve hours.

The problem lies in the time it takes to get her from the pool to the bed. A time that is marked by exhaustion and complete lack of reason. As we got in the car I asked, “Are you done with your lemonade?”

“Yes, I’m done.”

“Are you sure?”

“YES.”

I did the sensible thing and poured the remaining three teaspoons of lemonade in the parking lot.

TEARS. SOBBING. WAILING.

“I WANTED MY LEMONADE!!”

Well, I want a sedative. We can’t always get what we want.

We continued to have these kind of precious moments until I finally wrangled her into her monkey nightgown (NOT THE KITTY-CAT PAJAMAS! NOT THE PRINCESS PAJAMAS!!!) and got her in bed.

And then we woke up the next day and did the exact same thing.

Except I was smart enough not to pour out the rest of the lemonade.

I’m officially ready for summer.