Front porch: Someday, I will shower alone

It’s disconcerting to shower under armed guard. I reached for the shampoo and found myself staring down the barrel of an assault rifle. I tried to ignore the row of uniformed soldiers who silently watched my morning ablutions, but I couldn’t.

Their eyes stared stoically off into the distance, but I thought I caught an amused grin on one fellow’s face when I reached for my cranberry-apricot body scrub.

The fact the soldiers were only three inches tall and made of plastic didn’t ease my discomfort. With a soapy hand I turned each one of Sam’s G.I. Joes to face the wall.

Someday, I’d like to shower alone.

Eighteen years ago, when our first son was ready to bathe in the full-size tub, we bought a family of yellow rubber duckies to keep him company. Then Grandma bought him a plastic boat. That single boat soon gave way to a fleet of ships.

Each morning I had to find a place for Ethan’s navy before I climbed into the tub. I quickly learned stepping on a battleship – while eye-opening – is a painful way to start the day.

When our second son arrived, foam blocks were added to the bathtime ensemble. I loved the colorful blocks because they stuck to the sides of the shower walls and weren’t painful to step on. Unfortunately, Ethan still had his fleet and his ducks. Our tub was getting crowded.

By the time our third son was born, most of the foam blocks had been gnawed into pieces, the duck family had been adopted by a cousin, and the boats were permanently docked after my husband slipped on a sub. However, the toys that replaced those items were far more dangerous. Now, the two older boys refused to bathe without their Star Wars action figures.

One night I decided to enjoy a bubble bath after the kids were tucked in. I filled the tub and slid down into the sweet-smelling foam. Immediately, I jumped back up. My relaxing soak had been rudely interrupted when my posterior had a close encounter with Yoda – and his light saber.

Gradually, the kids began to view bathing as one more chore to complete as quickly as possible. Just when I thought I could be alone in the shower, our fourth son was born, and the bath collection started all over again.

This time a brilliant array of Sesame Street, Blues Clues and Winnie the Pooh characters filled the tub. Sam loved music, and bathroom acoustics are the best. Soon his bath time became a nightly concert. He’d pick up Elmo and we’d sing “Elmo’s World.” Then he’d hide Blue under the bubbles and we’d sing “Blue’s Clues” until we found Blue. But by far his favorite was Pooh’s “The Rain, Rain, Rain Came Down, Down, Down.” Sam would chortle with glee as I rinsed his hair, singing the silly song.

I never thought I’d miss those toys or those songs, but I do.

Now, Sam bathes by himself, and baby toys have made way for G.I. Joes. Instead of silly songs, the bathroom echoes with simulated gunfire and the splash of falling soldiers. And even though Sam is supposed to remove all his toys when he’s done, he often leaves a small cadre of G.I. Joes to stand watch among the shampoo bottles on the shower ledge.

Someday, this too will pass. Toy soldiers in the tub will be replaced by razors on the vanity, whisker stubble sprinkled around the drain, and cans of AXE body spray on the counter.

But for now our shower is the most secure, well-guarded spot in the neighborhood.