I hate to mention things like this when I picture Delton reading these posts ten or fifteen years from now, but I’ve got to get this one off my chest. Nothing tries one’s patience like this sequence of events from our trip home:
- Spend two hours in bumper-to-bumper traffic.
- Realizing that you will likely need to take the longer, scenic route to save your sanity, exit interstate and take a break. Many, many other people think this is a good plan too.
- Son poops in his pants at Burger King playland.*
- Hold son to prevent further trips down slide while wife is snaking her way through the line to order some milk and an apple pie. Also keep eye on roving daughter.
- Realizing the horrors that must surely await you in the BK men’s room at this time, drag son across parking lot to nearby hotel which must surely have a cleaner bathroom.
- Ignore “No Public Restrooms” sign while entering lobby.
- Find restroom door locked and wait.
- Give up after five minutes, and go back to BK.
- Allow son to walk in parking lot, forgetting that he left his shoes at the playland.
- Enter restroom just as large, gaseous Indian man takes the single handicap stall.
- Squeezed into smaller stall, find optimum position to minimize contact with any surfaces. Fail miserably.
- Remove socks, shorts and underwear. Poop is everywhere.
- Use many, many wipes and exhort son to “please just hold up your shirt” as you begin to wonder how you ended up here.
- Dress son, never mind his bare feet are touching the floor of a BK restroom.
- Place soiled clothing in bag. Consider for a millisecond saving them to wash later, then toss.
- Wash hands. Wash son’s hands. Wash hands again.
- Finally, finally get back to car. Discover wife was also dealing with daughter’s number two.
- Collapse into passenger seat, and try not to glare at family.
- Disinfect hands with antibacterial wipe.
- Rejoice for BK’s apple pie.
*And I might as well mention now that Delton also pooped three times at Busch Gardens. While we did run out of underwear and needed to splurge $1.25 for a diaper, the first aid station at least had a pristine, white-tiled private restroom.
So, we’re not exactly back on square one with the potty training, but we obviously have a few kinks to work out.