Reply #10: Just for you, Debi

[CornField]

I'll have to tell the other story sometime when I don't need to get to bed. For now, you'll have to be content with a different one (already typed out, so I can just cut and paste).

The Great Potty Scare

There is something about children and the noise of toilet flushing. None of my children have ever appreciated a good flush. Samantha, in particular, holds an acute aversion to this noise. I know that she must get outside the stall in public restrooms or she'll start screaming. I also know that, if left to her own devices, she'll never flush a toilet in her life.

Today we had to go out. I say "had to" because running around town with both little ones in tow is simply not something I do for fun. Actually I think most women could give up expensive gym memberships and better spend their money hauling my clan about town. Lifting? Who needs a weight bench? Running? Ever seen how quickly a child can move in a parking lot? Aerobic motion? That would be re-placing the dry goods on my grocer's shelves.

Anyway today we were at the grocery store. All we really needed were the idols of our household addictions - Diet Pepsi, yogurt, cheesie poofs, milk, and soy dogs. I'm not sure how the cart filled up. As we are on our way to the check-out lanes, Samantha announces she must go potty -- NOW! I'm hoping she can just hold it another 10 minutes until she gets home, but her manic 'pee-pee' dance moves suggest otherwise. We head to the other end of the store.

I enlist the help of a woman with a name tag to see if the bathroom is empty. It is, so I let Samantha go inside without me. Bubbs is sleeping in the cart (a miracle unto itself) and I'm not wanting to disturb his slumber if I don't have to. Ten minutes pass... fifteen... I'm beginning to wonder if she has drowned. Then I hear the scream. I honestly had no idea I could still move so quickly, much less maneuver a sleeping toddler from a shopping cart with one-hand accuracy.

Inside the bathroom, I discovered a crying Samantha. She sat, pants down, on the far side of the bathroom, glaring angrily at the toilet in the stall. Through the tears, I come to understand this toilet tried to "eat" her. It was one of those auto-flush jobbies and when Samantha leaned forward to wipe herself, it moved into action.

Well, I helped her up, dried her tears and cuddled the very upset Bubbster. We got back to the cart (my purse still untouched inside - second miracle of the day, if you're counting) and begin the walk back to the registers. Samantha is in front of me and walking as if she's a cowboy just off a four-day ride. As we move into the produce section, I ask Sam what's up with her behind. There, in the middle of Spirit only knows how many people and five different types of potatoes, my daughter proceeds to pulldown her pants and remove a large wad of toilet paper from her butt crack. Then, she hands it to me. I'm shocked and can feel all the eyes on me... I took the paper, shoved it in my jacket pocket and proceeded, head down, to the registers.

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Many moons ago, I wrote a "family" column for the local paper. I could bore you to tears with the exploits of my children. ;)