children, mommyhood, self-discovery

Why??

This is my pet peeve; telling me you don’t have to use the bathroom when asked point blank and then five minutes later announcing you have reached emergency bathroom status. Both boys were in the truck and we were on our way to Tae Kwon Do. We were running late and Full Speed exclaims “I really have to pee!”

Like a fool I start to argue with him (meaning why reason with someone who is five years old and who is just doing their best at existence?). “Why didn’t you say you had to go when we were in your class not FIVE minutes ago? Why did you wait until I have you both buckled in to tell me you had to go? Did your need to pee really increase that much from there to here? Did it? DID IT?”

Full Speed looks confused and highly uncomfortable by my angry questioning. I get a grip and stop asking. I make a snap decision. My decided upon plan could go flawlessly or let’s just say there would be a ‘contaminated area’ in the back of my truck, we’d have to skip Tae Kwon Do and spend the rest of our evening sanitizing Full Speed and his car seat. I hop in the front seat and for me (which isn’t very), drive aggressively the two minutes to Tae Kwon Do. I pull up to the studio, heave the bag of all their stuff over my shoulder, grab the boys and we race at top speed (which is more like speed walking in a rickety fashion) and manage to get Full Speed to the bathroom without incident (he also thankfully did not lock himself in there).

No matter how many questions I ask in the hopes of changing what is unchangeable, the answer remains the same; boys will be boys and their Mom will drink cocktails.

bad day, mommyhood, terrible threes

I’m Stunned

The adventure continues… we were at the park and things were going well if you can believe it. All of a sudden Full Speed looks completely panicked. He has to ‘POOP!’

I call to T.Puzzle who completely ignores my command to hurry to the bathroom with us. He climbs higher and higher out of my grasp and smiles sweetly. He knows I can’t do a darn thing about it.

Full Speed’s panic is increasing with each passing second. His eyes are growing wider and he looks at me with pitiful eyes. “I have to poop NOW!” he insists.

I don’t really know what to do. I know what I would like to do. I would like to find a stun gun that shoots lasers and leaves prey temporarily immobile, unharmed and completely compliant. Alas, no laser-stun gun is available to me so I do the only thing I can. I leave little T.Puzzle unattended and Full Speed to the restrooms (which fortunately are right next to the playground). I tell Full Speed ┬áhe’s going to have to ‘man-up’ and poop without me in there because I have to stand outside to keep an eye on T.Puzzle. This makes Full Speed crazy with fear. He doesn’t want to be left alone in the creepy, playground bathroom and he starts to cry. “Man-up!” is all I can say to him as I run back outside.

At this point, little T.Puzzle has positioned himself so that he is completely unreachable and he looks like the cat that swallowed the canary. I. AM. LIVID.

Then, I hear Full Speed wailing and look up to find him outside the bathroom crying with his pants around his ankles. “Go back inside, I’ll be there in a minute!” I yell. I’m so frustrated that he couldn’t have just stayed put but really he is the least of my worries. T.Puzzle has yet to move to lower ground.

I run back to the bathroom, clean up Full Speed and my hands as quickly as possible and order him to wash his own hands before he returns outside. I hightail it back out to little T.Puzzle who by this time has lost his focus and has starting chasing some older kids around. He doesn’t realize I am watching him and as he descends to a spot I can actually reach, I make my move. I run at full tilt and grab him. I tuck him under my arm and use the force of my anger to help keep him locked down. I jog the best I can back to the car and Full Speed eventually follows.

The only way I may ever go back to the park or back in public with little T.Puzzle is if someone invents that stun gun I described. Help a Momma out, people.