Locks. They’re there for a reason.

Sometimes it’s as if there was a camera crew following me. It all started normal enough. Alarm goes off, struggle outta bed, get to the bathroom. Start the shower, wait for the hot water, take a look at the mug in the mirror. Then we veer off course. Enter, stage right, soon to be five year old. She’s gotta pee, like all five year old girls do at 6:45 AM. She immediately chats up a storm about how great the weekend is gonna be since she’s having her Princess Party on the morrow. Yeah. Now get out and let me use the hot water. She exits, still talking, and I try to get the bus back on schedule. Mid-lather I hear knocking on the door, and thus - `'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door’ - Only this, and nothing more.' “Lenore?” nah – something more.
The door opened and I heard a clunk, then an announcement of some kind that this was for you, Daddy. The music of the King filled the bathroom. Cool, but it doesn’t end there. The first child left me to the music, but the singin' and tunes had this Siren effect on the second child, who promptly woke to come into the bathroom to plop and enjoy the concert. Half thrilled that they enjoy the tape player, specifically for Elvis as opposed to mindless kiddie tunes, yet bothered by the realization that my privacy (which I thought I would be able to hold on to until at least the first one turned maybe 10) is now forever GONE, I finish my shower. The day hasn’t slowed down since. Welcome to the rest of my life.