Of Showers and Scorpions

Last night I stepped into the shower and was greeted by a small army of plastic animals—the usual suspects: hippos, lions, tigers, jelly fish, abnormally large scorpions—all in a line and ready for battle (I feel I should specify here that these animals were in fact left in the shower by Jack and not Dan. You know, in case anybody wondered).  Last week there was a bowling pen and a pair of swim goggles in the shower—I can’t even begin to imagine what Jack was doing with those—and before that a 3 foot T-Rex took up residence in there for the week.  I really never know what I might find when I open the shower door—binoculars, pirate ships, a Lego Death Star—but rarely am I phased by it.  Oh sure, there was a time when I found it completely irritating that no space in our house was left untouched, or uncluttered,  by a child but then it occurred to me: Someday (a day relatively not too long from now) there will no longer be any little children in our house.  They’ll be away at college or travelling around the world or they’ll be married with children of their own.  There will be no plastic zoos in the shower, no sticky fingerprints upon the glass door, no half-eaten waffles behind the toilet, no cookie crumbs in the bed and my make-up bag will always be just where I left it.  And it all will be sorely, sorely missed.