Since the day she was born, Sophie has loved the bathroom. I don’t know why, I don’t care, either. As a mother, I learned quickly that if something shuts a screaming child up instantly you don’t question it, you don’t analyze it, you just go with it. Or, you hit up the corner liquor store.

When she was a newborn, I used to put her in a bouncy chair, set her in the bathroom, and hop in the shower at 2 o’clock in the morning when she was screamning bloody murder. Silence – instantly.

As she has grown, she still likes hanging out in the bathroom with me while I’m getting ready. She plucks her chin, tweezes her nose hairs, puts on her “make-up” and brushes her teeth right along with mommy.

Yesterday, like any other day, I stepped out of the shower and immediately scanned the room for Sophie. She was gone. Shit.

I draped the towel over me and stepped into my bedroom – sure I was going to find her rummaging through Scott’s night stand – i.e. condom stash. Oh, don’t get your panties in a wad, they’re all still in their packages – 3 kids, remember? Duh.

I didn’t find her in the night stand. I didn’t find her in my closet, either. Typically, my closet is her second choice for menascing. Take notes here, people, she has A LOT of “favorite” places and ways for being a little shit. She’s mastered the art.

I found her sitting on the floor by my bed. Playing with the plunger. Yes, a plunger. Now, this isn’t the kind of plunger that’s been sitting in my bathroom for a few days and never used because it’s more of a decoration piece than anything. This is the heavy duty, years old, used often kind of plunger. Yes people, I poop. In fact, all girls poop. Pick your chins up, boys, I promise… you’ll be over it by “bed time.”

Now, where was I going with this? Oh yeah – there REALLY just isn’t enough bleach to remedy a situation like this.

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