Mom Is Taking a Bath

Scott found this a few years ago when he gave a talk on Mother's Day. He knows how much I treasure hot baths! I found it again at kellymom.com.

Dear Kids,
Don't be alarmed; the world isn't coming to an end. I am simply taking a bath. It will take about 30 minutes and will involve soap and water.
Yes, I know how to swim. Even if I didn't, forcing myself to drown in a half-inch of lukewarm water is more work than I've got energy for. (Which reminds me, I'm all for science projects, but the next time you want to see if Play-Doh floats, use cold water.)
Don't panic if I'm not out right on time. I've heard that people don't dissolve in water, and I'd like to test the theory.
While I'm in the tub, I'd like you to remember a few things:
The large slab of wood between us is called a door. Do not bang to hear my voice. I promise that even though you can't see me, I am on the other side. I'm not digging an escape tunnel and running for the border, no matter what I said a while ago. I didn't mean it. Honest.
There will be plenty of time later to tell me about your day. "Later" means at a time when I am no longer naked, wet and contemplating the bubble gum in the blow dryer. I know you have important things to tell me. (Please let one of them be that you have invented a new way to blow bubbles, not a new way to add gum to your hair...)
Believe it or not, shouting, "TELEPHONE!" through the closed bathroom door will not make the phone stop ringing. Answer it and take a message. Since Amazing Mind-Reading Mom has the day off, you'll need to write that message down. Use paper and a pencil. Do not use your brother and the laundry marker. We can't send him to school with telephone-number tattoos.
Water makes me wet, not deaf. I can still tell the difference between the sound of "nothing" and the sound of a child playing the piano with a basketball. I can also hear you tattling at the top of your lungs. I'm choosing not to answer you.
Don't call your dad at work and tell him I am unconscious in the bathroom.
No matter how much I would like it, water does not make me forgetful. I remember who you are and why you are grounded. No, you can't go to Shelby's house to play. No, you can't go to Shelby's house to use the bathroom. If someone is in our other bathroom, you will just have to think dry thoughts and wait. Unless you have four feet and a tail, do not think of going outside to "water" the lawn. I know the dog does it. The neighbors don't feel the need to call me when the dog does it.
Unless the house catches fire, stay inside and keep the doors locked.
Do not go outside and throw rocks at the bathroom window to get my attention. I know it works in the movies, but this is reality, a place where people don't like to sit in a tub while rocks and broken glass rain down on them.
Do not set the house on fire. Call me if there is an emergency.
Emergencies are:
Dad has fallen off the roof.
Your brother and/or sister is bleeding.
There's a red fire truck in front of our house.
Emergencies are not:
Dad has fallen asleep.
Someone on TV is bleeding.
There's a red pickup truck in front of our house.
By the way, all Play-Doh experiments are hereby canceled.
Be good. Entertain yourselves. (Yes, you can do both at the same time.)
Try coloring, playing a game or paying that stack of bills on the coffee table.
I'll be out soon. Maybe.
Love, Mom