The Mother’s Race

I, often, wonder how my children will remember me.  Will they remember the times we dance in the kitchen to my laptop, the times I threaten to eat their feet with the vacuum, the times mom took them to the house that smelled like old people so she could talk to a woman that was not related nor friend to us, or will they remember all the times I went batshit crazy over nothing.

I am very rigid.  I admit it.  You can ask what I will be doing anytime of the day, any day, and I can almost give you the same answer every time.  It is just me.  It is my comfort zone.  But sometimes I want to do something spontaneous and exciting for the kids.  Today, that would be a trip to Party City to see if they had gotten an appropriate Spongebob pinata in stock.  When I told Amber, she seemed unexcited.  You know, because it is only for her big birthday party where all her classmates are invited and she just had to have Spongebob everything.  I pressed on, because I just KNEW it was going to be fun.

We found our pinata after much wrangling of wayward children, requested trips to the stockroom for just another look and the dreaded employee who offers balloons.  Then the one thing that no mother wants to see or hear erupted from Amber, “Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom!”.  We walked around to find a bathroom, but there was none to be found.  So I did what any loving and caring mom would do, I told her to hold it until we get home.  I mean I am sure her pea size bladder is able to hold until we make the 30 minute trip home.  My job here is done.  Nah, not really, just put off until a very inconvenient time.

I struggle to keep the kids from being run over in the parking lot while they are concerned that their balloons will escape.  I know what a tragedy it would be for them to lose their balloons as a Dodge pick up rams them.  *sigh* Then there was the fight to get not only the kids into the car, but the balloons that were so desperate to escape and fly in the wind.  Sam was confused about this balloon thing, but knew he didn’t want his to leave.  Amber knew the deal with balloons and my hatred for them.  She was determined to hold onto her until I, finally, snapped and forced her to release it into the wild. 

Finally in the car, I hear the second thing no mother wants to hear, “Mommy, I have to go REALLY BAD!”.  So now I must play beat the clock.  Of course, I am in the height of the afternoon traffic jam and at a stoplight.  Precious minutes are ticking by and my anxiety level is high.  Amber is quietly sitting in her seat waiting for either a bathroom or her bladder to burst.  The light turns green and we crawl at a snail pace to my U-turn.  Would it be too much to ask for someone to let us in?  I mean it wasn’t like they were going to be any further then we would be.  I find my hole and I gun it, only to find myself behind a car full of OLD PEOPLE.  OH MY GOD, the dreaded car of old people, who don’t care when they get to their destination; they are just happy to be up and out.  I am right there at the Wendy’s.  I just want to turn in, so I can avoid cleaning a urine soaked kid and carseat.  The Car of Death refused to move from their appropriate car link from the car in front of them.  All I needed was a half of inch, so I can get through the driveway.  I thought of running over the curb and through the bushes.  I mean why else do moms have SUVs, if not to get us to a bathroom for our potty challenged kids?  If you guessed I flashed them a smile to get them to move, you have no idea who you are dealing with.  I laid on the horn and yelled some PG language and they moved up.  I think I might have scared them, but don’t mess with a mother faced with a child holding a full bladder/  Finally, we had made it to bathroom where Amber could pee and I could embarrass myself further.

As we are getting out of the car, I am on high alert.  Just because we have made it to the parking lot doesn’t mean the race is over.  I have to get the kids out without the balloons escaping and then have a 5 minute conversation with Amber of why I should take her balloon off her wrist, while making sure Sam isn’t run over.   Then I exclaim at the top of my lungs, “What is wrong with you kids? It is like you lost your brain cells.”  UGH!!!  I really should give classes. 

We make it to the bathroom and my nerves start to calm as I hear the tickle and say to may self that no one died from licking the wall in a public restroom.  Well, I guess we will find out in the morning.  So, what have we learned today, kids?  Never steer off course.  Stay focus.  And don’t gamble with a child who needs to go potty, RIGHT NOW!