After a morning at work, and an afternoon weeding the flower garden, fertilizing the vegetable garden, getting the backyard toys out and marinating chicken in preparation for tonight's dinner, I left my house feeling accomplished and ready for the task ahead of me. I had to pick up 3 of my 5 children, head to my teenager's baseball game and arrange transportation for my middle-schooler from her track meet which was about 10 minutes from NYC and a whole world away from my house in the country. After much driving, texting (not at the same time, relax) and some playground time, I loaded the 3 into the van and took them to 7-11 where they could fill their MEDIUM Slurpee cup with whatever flavor combination their hearts desired and headed to the teenager's baseball game.
I'm a huge sports fan. I played sports in high school, I love to watch games on tv, and I love watching my kids play (well, relatively...see an older post). My sophomore "plays" for Varsity. Basically, as a sophomore that consists of mostly sitting on the bench. I still love to go to his games and route on the team. I sit on those splintered benches and gratefully accept the bouquets of weed flowers my 7 year-old brings me. I wipe the baseball dirt mustaches off of my 8 year-old's upper lip, and dish out many a Goldfish Cracker while celebrating the victories and mourning the losses of the team that my son graces the bench for and I paid $250 for him to do so. I also take many trips to the bathroom with the little ones. Today, one of those trips proved epic.
During the 5th inning, my son Luke informed me that he had to go to the bathroom. The bathroom is located in the HS building and quite a walk from the ball field so I told him that I'd go with him. He took off ahead of me like a bullet. I resigned that he'd be fine without me and followed as far as the outfield where I decided to stand and watch the game while waiting for him to finish his business. After some time, I realized that 1/2 an inning had just passed and Luke hadn't emerged. He is prone to long public-restroom visits so I wasn't too alarmed but I decided to check on him. I stood at the door of the men's room and called his name. I heard a timid, "Mom?" And then a panicked, "I need your help!" Oh boy.... I made sure that the locker room/bathroom was clear of any other men and walked into a mess of Biblical proportions. There was my little guy with his pants in his hands and, well.... a "mess" all over the place. Apparently when you weigh 54 lbs. and drink a MEDIUM Slurpee, it can lead to bouts of explosive expressions that may or may not make it into the appropriate receptacles. The poor kid tried to take care of the mess himself and in doing so managed to grace the sink, floor and top of the commode with his gift. The remainder of articles of clothing he was still wearing were also decorated. I had one of those moments where my mind traveled through so many different scenarios that I had a momentary out-of-body experience. I grabbed the pants, cleaned the sink with locker room paper towels and closed the stall door on my son reassuring him that I'd be back ASAP. I had no idea what I was going to do. I ran to my car where I deposited the soiled and soaking-from-"washing" pants on the blacktop and then ran to the bleachers to get my keys. My 7 year-old was happily rolling down a hill with her little friend and the middle-schooler was chatting with a friend so I quickly went to the van and took stock of my options. I had a plastic shopping bag....and a rainbow parachute. Taking said items back to the locker room, I ran into a very surprised older gentleman wearing a cowboy hat. I made my apologies, mumbled something about my little guy having an accident and proceeded as if I were The Wolf from Pulp Fiction. I needed to erase all evidence that this bio hazard ever occurred and safely get my now naked son from the crime scene. I ushered him to the locker room shower where I turned on the ice cold water and handed him a bar of soap. I stifled any complaints of water temperature with a stern look and headed to the bathroom. My only options of cleaning supplies were the paper towel dispenser, the hand soap from a pump and the trickle of water from the motion-sensor faucet....Awesome. I proceeded to pump soap, lever down paper towels and trickle water like a mad woman until the sink shone, the floor no longer looked like a barn and the toilet was as clean as a high school boys' locker room toilet should be. I forced the boy out of the shower prematurely (he likes long showers like his father) and wrapped him in the only thing I had....the rainbow parachute. The job was almost done. I only had to get him through the outfield, to the parking lot and into the van unnoticed, piece of cake?....I started to walk trying to block him with my body, but he was falling behind so I grabbed his neck and held him next to me...a few steps to go and my 7 year-old appeared out of nowhere jumping up and down, holding herself and yelling, "I have to go BATHROOM!!...WAIT,,,WHY IS LUKE IN A PARACHUTE?!!" I shushed her, ignoring the snickers from a mother sitting near the parking lot, told her to wait a moment, to which she responded with throwing herself on the ground, continuing her potty dance prostrate, and got my naked, rainbow-parachute-wrapped boy safely in the minivan, with his integrity somewhat intact. I deposited the plastic bag of soiled clothing in the trunk and took the diva to the ladies' room......The rest is a blur...I do know that my middle schooler fell in a ditch, twisting her knee and that the baseball team won.....
My marinated chicken was forgotten, baseball game was over at 7:00 and pizza was ordered. The windows were wide open on the ride home to air out the contents of that plastic bag, and I sat, the matriarch, driving my minivan....my victorious bench warmer to my right, the non-stop-talking diva behind me, kicking the driver's seat the whole way, my ballerina with the twisted knee plugged into her ipod in the back seat, my naked-rainbow-parachuted brainiac discussing his class-trip to the Sterling Cave like he wasn't naked or wrapped in a parachute, and my middle school track runner getting chicken pot pie at a friend's house.
So tonight, my kids ate pizza instead of the healthy homemade dinner I had planned. My 1st-grader didn't complete her homework because dinner was finished at her regular bedtime. I ended up doing an extra load of laundry I hadn't anticipated. I assured Luke that what happened happens to everyone (doesn't it?) and that even though Mommy seemed like it, she wasn't angry with him. She was just overwhelmed with the situation. My teenager, who painted my barn doors this weekend, went to bed early to get a jump on tomorrow. The twins put away their laundry and are tucked in...and I sit exhausted wearing the $2.00 ring my son bought me today at the souvenir shop from his class trip, knowing that I am the luckiest woman in the world.
