•in the all-together•

I have locked myself in the bathroom to write this. (Going on a full month without any toddler-free time, here.) But wait! I have news! Silvery, shimmery, glittery news! Today I achieved a personal dream. I turned on and used my outdoor shower. Twice. The conditions were perfect: toddler asleep, 103 degrees in the shade, and an apparatus so cobbled-together as to make my usual half-assedness look meticulous (the pictures don't exactly capture the hose-to-pipe-to-hose connections; they also elegantly hide the PVC aspect of the whole affair). I twisted our garden hose into place, turned on the spigot at the house, and scampered back to a little hummingbird brimming with promise. Then, wriggling out of clothes and giggling like an idiot, I turned that bird. And showered. It was so very short, but so very delightful. It was glorious, refreshing, and everything I'd hoped it would be. Finishing up, I peered out at the apartment complex behind our house and, well, I was not alone. Not sure exactly what I'd thought (that people wouldn't be home? that no one would notice me, naked and laughing on a Sunday afternoon?), but it was odd to be seen at that moment. I can't really say that I cared, but I felt some distant shade of indignation. "I can see you, you know," I called, as if pointing out that I could see the man would make him somehow less interested in seeing me. He did not move. Maybe he wasn't looking at me. Or maybe he didn't care, just as I didn't care, and was going to watch, damnit, in the same way I am going to continue to shower, damnit, outside. What might he have seen? Nothing porn-r-ific. Just a tired mom's bodkin, the color of cottonwood... a woman ablaze with satisfaction. I skittered away toward the spigot (off) and my clothes (on), skin prickling with joy. xox