On weekday mornings, there is always a crush of people: standing in line, going about their personal business, making mild chit-chat. And that's just my bathroom. Mom, dad and son all start their day by crowding into what would be politely referred to as "the master bath." Some days we are lucky enough to get the dog as well. As a result, I do what I can to get in first and clear the way for everyone else, but it's not always possible. This is especially true when the heater comes on, since both son and dog enjoy the vertical vent that sits below the sink. This is ideal for warming oneself as one prepares to face a day. It does make for an interesting dance around the sink and bathtub as dad goes through his own morning routine through bleary eyes.
It has become as much a part of our morning ritual as the dueling alarm clocks. Mine goes off at six-thirty to the sounds of album-oriented rock. My son begins to stir just a few minutes later when the slightly younger and louder modern rock pours from his radio. These disparate musics meet somewhere in the middle, or right over the bathroom sink. You can turn left or right to choose the transmission of your choice, or you can simply hop into the shower to get the jump on the rest of the action.
The most curious part of this experience is that we manage to move past and around one another without too many collisions in spite of the fact that we do have another bathroom in the house. It's not a full bath, so baths and showers are still a first-come, first-serve proposition. And since the other bathroom is found at the far end of the house, an arctic region to hear some describe it, it doesn't get as much traffic. It would also preclude all this family togetherness. Now here's the kicker: Once upon a time, a family of seven lived in our house. They did so without the additional bathroom. Mom, dad and five kids: one bathroom. Somehow they all managed to get up and out to face the day in some fashion. How they did this without turning the garden hose on the boys and asking the girls to primp in the curved reflection of the toaster is anybody's guess, but it does take my own consternation down a notch or two.
When I was growing up, like so many other kids, my mother had a decorative plate that hung over our refrigerator that read: "No matter where I serve my guests, they seem to like my kitchen best." I'm still working on the cute rhyme for the decorative plate for our bathroom.