Play Dates

Feeling cabin-feverish, I invited a friend and her young sons to our home on a chilly January morning. After a snack the "big kids" – our two three-year-olds – went upstairs on their own to play.

All was well until my friend's son came downstairs – shivering, drenched from head to toe, and naked from the waist down. While his mother interrogated him, my daughter Lydah tiptoed downstairs, also drenched and half-naked.

Turns out our two preschoolers had discovered the fun of filling up a half-gallon-pail of water in the bathroom sink and dumping it out in various places in the bathroom – like on the walls, the cabinets, the toilet and floors (they somehow missed the bathtub) – and of course, on each other. Our deep-sea divers must have decided the jig was up when they got cold, so they depants-ed themselves and went in search of dry clothing. (I know this because I followed their little wet trails all over the upstairs bedrooms.) And finally, out of desperation, they decided to ask their mothers for advice.

After a few chilly minutes in her time-out spot, I toweled off my sobbing daughter and explained to her that there are certain messes that are okay to make, and others that aren't. “We don't make messes with water, Lydah. You can make messes with toys or books, but not water. Water is too hard to clean up."

"Just milk next time?" she asked genuinely. (We have had similar discussions before, like when I discovered she'd used the contents of her sippy cup and a pair of socks to "clean" furniture.)

“No Honey,” I pleaded. “Please, not milk.”

Meanwhile, my friend had no choice but to re-clothe her otherwise quite masculine son with a pair of Lydah's lacy underpants. She left our house giggling. Praise God, she was giggling.

Lesson learned: Surround yourself, and your children, with people who will not be completely horrified when kids do the things that kids do. People who lack a sense of humor will drain you, and your kids will drain them. A litmus test for future friendship might include reading this post aloud, and if the prospective friend doesn't find half-naked preschoolers shivering in time-out a wee bit funny, they are probably not the folks you want to have over.

Epilogue:

After helping me soak up the mess, Lydah said with a fresh set of sobs: "Mommy, I'm sorry I had a bad attitude." Which, when translated into adult English, means, I'm sorry I covered myself and my friend and the whole bathroom with water.

"It's okay, Lydah," I assured her. "I forgive you."

She smiled at me, wiping the tears from her face. "I forgive you too."

Public Restrooms

Quick! You have two seconds to make this choice -- choose carefully.

Option 1. Help your desperate-to-pee daughter use the wonky public toilet, the seat of which is protruding 3 inches beyond the bowl and was obviously installed by someone ignorant of female anatomy.

Or,

Option 2. Wait for who knows how long for the other stall to free up.

Have you made your choice? Did you do it quickly, keeping in mind that a little girl in your care really has to go?

The choice was obvious for me: get the kid on the seat, secure her dress with one hand in the back, lean her body forwards, and in a parenting maneuver I'll call the bellysmush, endeavor to help my daughter aim her pee in the proper direction.

Parents, I do not recommend the bellysmush. Biology did not leave much room for a girl's parents to assist with pee-aiming. That is what the very wide bowl of the toilet is for. However, when your daughter's little bottom is pretty much dangling over your feet, the size of that bowl doesn't make a lick of difference.

The result? A jet-stream of urine bouncing off of the rim of the toilet and straight up into my arms and face. I had my eyes closed, but I'm quite sure my daughter looked horrified and sorry.

And probably relieved too, because in a surprising turn of events, she REALLY had to go. Like, more than usual. So I had no choice but to remain there -- kneeling over an uncontrollable spray park of urine -- because I thought she would slip off that blasted, cursed seat and onto the floor. (Also, my mind wasn't made up yet if the bellysmush was helping or not.)

Sometimes, as parents, we go through hard times for our kids. We get pummeled in the face by unforeseen disaster, and we have to choose between letting our children go it alone, or sticking with them to save them from falling. We risk our own dignity and clean shirts to make sure they know that we're there for them and don't have plans elsewhere.

We do this because someday they will be on their own, and they too will meet disaster. They too will have bad boyfriends, back-stabbing girlfriends, horrible bosses and belittling coworkers. At the end of the day, they will need to know who they can really trust.

Well baby girl, you can lean on me. To prove it, I will let you hang onto my arms while you give my face a pee-shower.

Grocery Shopping

Grocery shopping with kids in tote is always one of two things: a record-speed sprint to grab what I need, throw it in the cart, and get though check-out before the kids notice they're surrounded by food items at arm's length, OR a catastrophe of ridiculously epic proportions.

I don't know why there isn't something in between. It's just one of those mysteries of life -- kind of like why kids insist on licking the bottom of their shoes when you've already explained to them the very real chance that they stepped on poop somewhere -- and so I thought it a pertinent topic for the first post on this blog.

In case you don't believe me about the catastrophe thing, here are a few real-life examples of bad, bad things that have happened to me while shopping with my kids:

Luncha-blankity blank

Child A caught scent of Lunchables in the next aisle over. Child B heard the word "Lunchable." Both children were inconsolable until I realized that one $2 Lunchable was totally worth it, so I grabbed one and let them chow down. Two aisles down, while patting myself on the back for my genius parenting, either Child A or Child B managed to kick the said Lunchable onto the floor and into the path of several oncoming carts, causing not only a minor traffic jam, but a fresh set of tears from both children. I think I even cried a little.

Hands in the air!

After a series of calm lectures of why it's best to keep hands in the cart, we arrived at the checkout lane. And of course, in the checkout lane, are where all of the most-wanted grabbable things are located. Child B was especially drawn to the Little Debbie display case, which, in Child B's defense, was top-heavy and poorly designed. After unloading all the groceries onto the conveyor belt, hunting for my store membership card, handing over my coupons, and paying, I guess I forgot to check what those little hands in the cart were doing. I inched the cart forward but it didn't move. Without looking up, I pulled harder. The Little Debbie case tipped over (a.k.a. was pulled over) sideways, sending snack packs onto the bodies and into the carts of the shoppers behind me. "I'm so sorry!" I cried out to them. They looked stunned, so I tried to book it out of there before they realized what hit them. "Lady, you have to sign this receipt." the cashier called out. So much for not getting caught red-handed.

Car Carts and Road Rage

Upon arrival, we miraculously located the store's elusive "car cart" -- a tiny shopping cart attached to an enormous car-shape that children can ride in -- and I managed to do all my shopping with only minor steering issues. Upon exit of the store, however, the floor's decline near the sliding doors caused us to go a wee bit too fast. In short, the sliding doors didn't open and we slammed right into the glass. Hard. Child A was able to grab onto something in time, but Child B lurched forward before slipping sideways and eventually upside down, dangling from her seatbelt by one foot. Her face was a few inches from the floor. Several people screamed. In a panic I dropped my bags (for they didn't all fit into the part actually intended for groceries), and went to rescue her, only to find that she was giggling hysterically and flapping her arms. I placed her back into the seat, tightened her seatbelt, and rammed into the sliding door THREE MORE TIMES before it finally recognized the car cart as an object that wanted to get through. Then we sailed out the door and over another decline, right into oncoming traffic. (Parents beware: car carts have braking issues.)

My Bad

Another time, I arrived at the checkout lane only to find out that I left my wallet next to my home computer after purchasing some children's clothing online (okay, so that wasn't directly the fault of the children.)

In short, grocery shopping with my children has taught me a valuable lesson: if it all possible, through whatever means, avoid at all costs taking the children grocery shopping.

(Note: I downloaded the free image above to spark some discussion. For starters, what in the world is a kid that big doing in a shopping cart? His feet are touching the floor! Also, what's with all the ketchup varieties? I've only ever had the one kind.)