There are things that just don't even enter your head that very well may be the reasons that God designed parenting to be by two rather than one. Like one kid needing to go to the bathroom during a movie. Do you let him go alone? No. Do you leave her in the theater alone? No. You take them both. Into the ladies room. With you. I probably took Will into the ladies room until he was a little too old to go in the ladies room. Oh yes, we're that entire family that says "Excuse me, pardon me, excuse us, sorry, oops (as we kick over your drink)" while moving in front of the movie/game, probably at a really good part or play. Try a truck stop on a long drive. When she is asleep in her car seat, and he needs to go potty. I swear I have pulled off at some rather uninhabited looking exits and let him go on the side of the road to avoid that one. These things never, not once, entered my thoughts until they happened.
One day, in the throws of my divorce, I leave my office and am headed to pick up the kids from daycare when it happens. You know it. It is that rumble in your tummy that depending on it's exact location and volume provides you all the information you need to know to know how long you have. I didn't have long. So I hurried. And of course, I rush in, sign the kids out in negative time, and they are moving as fast as dead sloths. "Hurry, hurry, hurry kids!" I urge. "Why are we in a huwwy Mommy?" Rachel asks. This is the part where you can't say, "Because I'm about to sh*t my pants Rachel." So you use the one word answer that isn't an answer at all, but together with the tone that ends the questions right then - "Becauuuuse." Will climbs in his seat and buckles himself. Rachel still needs help, so I throw her in, and wrap the seatbelt around her as if I'm in a race. And I am. My tummy has told me so several times. I fly through the parking lot and neighborhood without looking both ways, not signaling, saying "Come on, come on, come on…" to every car that isn't doing it Andretti style. I explain to Will and Rachel "Ok, when we get home, Mommy is going to run straight in the house because she has to potty. You can get yourselves out right?" To which Rachel immediately says "No." "Oh, come on Ray, you're a big girl, you can do it." "No." So I fly into the driveway, jump out, throw her door open, yank her seatbelt off, yank her out and put her down, and turn and run for the door. I hear "Mooooommy, pick me up!" I look over my shoulder, and she is standing there with her little arms up in the air. I can't leave my child in the driveway crying with her arms outstretched. I run back to her, pick her up and run for the door. I open the door, and past me flies our dog. I yell for him to come back (or did I?), but then I see the mess. Our weimeraner, Merlin, was psychotic. He could not be left in the house alone. Somehow on this day, the back door was left open, and he let himself in. In to the cupboards and pantry. He could chew whole cans and he did. He emptied their contents all over the rug, two entire cans of ravioli. He helped himself to boxes of cereal, which because he was missing an opposable thumb, he opened by shredding. There was a mess in every room. He enjoyed the offerings of the cat box, and left what he didn't enjoy wherever. I sat Rachel down in the doorway and ran for the bathroom. Now the problems with being a single mom and bathrooms don't stop at the kids. As the only person in the house that can make decisions past which "vidweo" to watch, I can not close the bathroom door. So there I am when Will announces that he is going to go look for Merlin. I yell down the stairs "Will, you may stand on the front porch and call for him, but you can't go any further than that until I am done, ok?" "Ok Mommy" he answers. A few moments later I hear the distinct voice of an unidentifiable male "Hello?" I freeze, using seldom used muscles to make certain that I don't give away my position. Perhaps someone bringing back Merlin? But where is Will? He should be on the front porch talking to whoever this stranger is…no, that can't be good. I answer from my pearly perch, "Umm, uh can I help you?" "Yeah, um, I'm from the Arkansas Democrat Gazette and I was wondering" "No", I cut him off, "we don't need the paper thank you. Um, do you see a little boy out there?" "Do what?" he asked. My voice was a little more urgent, "A little boy, a little red headed boy? Do you see him anywhere?" I asked. "No, but we're running a special right now" "I do not need or want the paper", I cut him off again, more insistent this time. "Oh ok" he says, and I am hoping left. I call to Rachel. "Rachel?" Her little voice comes from the exact spot where I put her down, "Mommy Merwin made a big mess." "I know honey, and just as soon as I am done, I'm going to clean it up. Do you see Will anywhere?" "No" she answers. I quietly unroll the toilet paper, and I do not flush just in case that man was still there somewhere. I would hate for the paper salesman to know that I poop. I come downstairs, and walk outside and call for Will. When he comes around the side of the house, I remind him that he was not supposed to go anywhere but the front porch. He tells me that he was just looking in the back yard in case Merlin decided to go back there.
I put the kids on the couch in front of the television so that I can clean the mess. An hour later, I get started on dinner. I feed the kids, and apologize to them for a hectic evening. I am exhausted, but I offer to make chocolate pudding. Why? Because chocolate will make it all better. I get a bowl, I pour the milk, I open the powdery package and dump it in. I go to throw the box away, and as I turn around, in that millisecond between the Oh and no, Rachel has her little dimpled hand on the rim of the bowl. She just wanted to look in it, but some how when you're lower than the counter the only way to do this is to pull it down to you. Milk and brown powder went everywhere, including the drawer I had left open when I pulled the wire whisk from it. I literally sat on the floor of the kitchen, put my head in my hands and began laughing and crying at the same time. Little hands wrapped themselves around me, and her little voices asked "Ut happened Mommy?" And I looked up at her and said, "Life happened baby, life." Because all of this was our life. Every mess, every mess up. We've learned to manage the intricacies of public restrooms and we eventually got the paper. Oh, and I went back and flushed.
