When Sam lived at home he never got out of the shower without being told. Ever. When we lived on Cherry Street we had to run upstairs to tell him to get out of the shower. He would hear us coming, and just as we were about to bang on the bathroom door and commence yelling, he'd turn off the water. Okay, that is irritating. I've gotten mad, I've stopped whatever I was working on in the kitchen, I've argued with Hubby about whose turn it is to run upstairs, I've run upstairs, and all for naught. I want to let him have it!
I have to admit that I took an evil delight in thinking about Sam in the army at basic training getting a 10 second shower. {insert evil Mom laugh here}
Now Max has taken over the hot water. It's a new thing for him. Now I have to stop what I'm doing, go bang on the bathroom door and then I really get him... I call him Sam. Brothers hate that. Then the difference between Sam and Max follows. Max has to come out of the bathroom and argue about how long his shower took and how he is entitled, that he got up at 7:33, walked downstairs and now its 7:50 and it was only an eight minute shower and blah, blah, blah.
Hubby says to enjoy this Max phase as it's his last year before college at home, however; it's difficult to enjoy while I'm taking a cold shower.
There are things a Mom misses as her chicks leave the nest and there are somethings that she does not miss. I'm just sayin'.
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