Privacy.

Dear children,

You're old enough now. I'm going to explain this in terms that you will understand. And I will hold you accountable. I need privacy. Not all the time. Not most of the time. But when I'm changing clothes, or in the bathroom, I do. Always. I don't need little assistants to hand me my underwear, or my toilet paper. I don't need an audience that is full of "what's that, and what are those" type questions. Standing in the doorway and promising to close your eyes does not count as giving me privacy. Sitting on the floor outside of the bathroom door and sticking your little fingers under the door while whimpering in your most pitiful voice does not ignite sympathy. You will be fine without me. For thirty seconds. Standing in between the inside curtain of the shower and the outside curtain of the shower also does not qualify as privacy. I can still see you. Which means you can still see me. It's fine that you are comfortable enough to run from the bathroom to your bedroom totally naked and that you don't mind if I see you. That rule doesn't apply to grown ups. At least not in this house. Or in any house that you will ever live in. Or visit. Ever. I love you. Really, I do. Now get out. And close the door behind you.

Sincerely,

Your clinging to her dignity with her fingernails mother.