Why I should not have taken Dynamite to Staples

All I wanted were two very simple student planners.  No frills--just something to write down my kids’ individual assignments in.  After church, I ask my dear husband, “Do you mind if I just shoot over to Staples for a few minutes?  I just need to run in really quick.”  

Then Dynamite and Cindy-Lou Who chime in, “We want to go too!  Can we go too?”

“Okay,” I say, “that’s fine.  But it’s just going to be a quick trip.  In and out.”

Like that would ever happen…

Two minutes in to my perusing the clearance rack for some discounted planners, I notice Cindy Lou Who doing the pee-pee dance. 

 

“Do you need to use the bathroom?”  I ask.

“The very tiniest bit, Mom” she says holding up her index finger and thumb to give me a visual.

“Mm-hmmm.”

Now to find a bathroom.  We find a store employee and are pointed to the bathroom. 

 

“Okay, just go potty and I’ll wait out here for you,” I tell her.

Now, here is where the story twists.  That’s right, my friends.  In just a moment, it can all fall apart.

“I have to go potty too!!” Dynamite chimes in.

Oh man.  This is the kid whose butt is so little, he has to scoot all the way back on the toilet seat so he doesn’t fall in.  This is the kid who still hasn’t mastered the art of aiming and leaves “art work” for me to find on my shower curtain. 

There’s no, “Just go in and come out” anymore.  That ship has sailed.  So, the three of us trudge in to the bathroom.

It smells like…well, poop.  There you have it.  It totally smells like poop.

 

The toilet is splattered and disgusting and I really don’t want my kids sitting on it.  I get out my all-purpose baby wipes and meticulously wipe the seat.  Then, I lay out strands of toilet paper for the child who only needs to go to the bathroom the tiniest bit, but is doing this amazing number that reminds me of Lord of the Dance.

As I’m trying to do damage control, Dynamite says what we’re all thinking (but not really):

“It smells wike pwetzels in here or sumping.”  Probably not the first thing I would analogize the smell to, but I guess pretzels do have a different kind of smell sometimes.

As he’s doing what he needs to do, I can be overheard saying, “Point your peeper down.  Dynamite, do not pee on your underwear.  Make sure it’s pointed down.”

He’s agreeable and understands, I’m quite certain, that mommy is just doing a very quick in and out trip to the office supply.  He totally gets it that I just need two freaking little notebooks that would’ve taken me five-minutes tops if I had only come alone.

 

“Um, I fink my undapants are wet,” he says as he’s getting off the toilet-paper lined seat.

“Seriously?”

“I fink so.”

Now, perhaps any good mother would’ve said, “Okay, let’s go home right this minute.  We need to change your clothes.”

But I didn’t.  Because sometimes I'm not a good mother.  Sometimes I'm a very utilitarian kind of mother.  And I really needed two measly little notebooks and I was out with only two kids instead of four.

 

So I said, “Okay, I don’t think they’re that wet.  Let mommy just find these (insert naughty word that I said in my head so only I could hear it and prayed later that God would cleanse my heart and help me stop thinking those naughty words when I’m frustrated) notebooks.”

Dynamite walks around pinching the seam of his pants and pulling it out so it doesn’t touch his rear end. 

 

“My pants is wet, Mom.”

I’m beginning to think they’re a little more wet than I realize

.

I grab some cute stripey paper-clips as a consolation that I am not getting my notebooks, but at least I will have gotten something that I needed (read: helped ease my feelings of defeat). 

And that is why, next time, I will leave Dynamite and Cindy-Lou Who at home when I need to get two little things at Staples.