The end of another school year has passed. I'm delighted, for now, although in a few weeks I will begin to miss coworkers and students and the delicious feeling of being needed. Currently, I am scheduling fun-filled days of the zoo and parks and playdates and pottery class and storytime at the library, and the lack of downtime is comforting to me. Psychoanalyze me all you want: I don't do well with blank space in my day. I like a good schedule.
The last day of school, I called my sister-in-law, who also works for the same school system, and asked her and her youngest daughter to go to dinner with the kid and I. She agreed (kind of shocking) and then they showed up about a half-hour late (not shocking at all). The kid and I spent the time discussing the current political climate. I'm kidding; we sat and colored. He's 4 and a half, people. And once they got there, we had a nice dinner. My adorable 3-year old niece was a holy terror, which amused me more than I could ever express on paper. I'd been spending the last 4 years listening to my brother comment about how unruly my kid was, and his youngest turned out even more boisterous. Anyway, I'm absolutely in love with my niece (this is kind of a new development for us; we've had a good year) and I was, as always, delighted by her personality. We finished up dinner, made plans for my oldest niece's baby shower that weekend, and the kid and I left.
As the kid and I walked to our car, I noticed Panera, in all its glory, to the left of us. Now, for those of you who don't know, I worked at a Panera when I was in college. I opened up the bakery on weekends at 5:30 in the morning. I'm pretty sure I was still quite buzzed on many days that I worked, but I really did enjoy my job. Since then, I've always been drawn to Panera. I like to tell people that I like their coffee, but I'm actually pretty sure that I just like that I can add as much half-and-half as I want to my coffee, so that I have this tan coffee-like hot substance that tastes like heaven and adds inches to my hips. I've been frequenting this particular Panera since it opened a few months before, so I've actually gotten a bit tired of eating there, but I knew that the kid would love one of their cookies. I pulled him past the car and towards the Panera. He was a bit confused at first, but then got really excited. Kids like dumb crap like cookies. Whatever.
So we walk into Panera, and their bakery case is pretty much empty. Panera's bakers work overnight and bake most of what's for sale (and don't add preservatives), so if you run out during the day, then you just run out. The managers should be tabulating how much they sell on certain days and planning for the amount they will likely need, but it's not an exact science, and this Panera is new. So often you'll find an empty case after the dinner rush. But I noticed that one cookie was left, so I grabbed it up, along with a coffee for me. Around this time, the kid says that he has to pee SO BAD. I'm in line, and I'm not about to get out if I can help it, so I direct the kid to the nearby bathroom (the women's, because I've made the mistake of letting him go into the men's, and although I have no shame, I hate hearing men scream like little girls when I come in to check on my kid) and finish making my purchases. Then I fill up my coffee (okay, I fill up my hot half-and-half) and go into the bathroom to see how the kid is doing.
I walk inside, and I'm happy to see that the bathroom is empty besides the kid. He's in the handicapped stall, because he insists on room when he's using the bathroom, and he's standing in front of the toilet with a confused look on his face. He's naked from the waist down, and he's holding his underpants in his hand. "What's going on?" I ask him, and he looks up at me with a frown. "I peed my pants - I didn't make it."
This is not a big deal. We've had bathroom mishaps. I've been through the time, when he was 10 months old, that he had explosive diarrhea that slid down his leg, leaving his diaper spotless and his outfit brown, slimy and smelly. (This particular incident was 45 miles away; I did not have a change of clothes.) So I walk over to him, grab his boxers, and ask him where his shorts are. We live a mile away; he can wear just his shorts for a few minutes. But, alas, his shorts were soaked as well.
Ah, conundrum. Do I make him put on cold, wet, pee clothes? I don't want to do that. I've had to put on a wet bathing suit before and it's not fun. I consider running out to the car to grab a blanket, but I'm not going to leave him in the bathroom alone. My mind races, trying to find a solution to the problem. Through my decision-making process, the kid stands, looking up at me, innocently believing that mommy knows everything and will make the best decision. Ugh, the pressure.
Finally, I grab the wet clothes and tug down the kid's t-shirt. It barely covers his junk and it certainly doesn't cover his butt. I instruct the kid to tug down his shirt as best he can, and we parade out of the bathroom, giggling like blondes. We don't go unnoticed. Families smile with glee, nodding at him. Parents give me sympathetic looks. It's as though the entire restaurant has filled up with two extra busloads of people and the kid and I are wearing strobe lights. I follow his chunky little butt out of the door and glance around for cops, worried about some indecent exposure law. I'd always figured I'd get arrested for indecent exposure some day, but my kid?
Of course, the world picks this particular time to line the streets between Panera and my car. The kid is laughing hysterically by now. He's forgotten to hold down his shirt, and his boy parts are flapping in the wind. His butt is wiggling; he's putting on a show. The exhibitionist! He must get that from my mother or something! Cars are slowing down; people are pointing and waving and watching the semi-naked kid get across the parking lot. I expect to see a news helicopter in the sky, but luckily we got out before the paparazzi got word.
Finally, I open the car door and the kid clambers in. I throw a blanket over his legs and buckle his seat belt. His face is beaming, and I'm glad that he wasn't traumatized about the whole event.
Anyway, if I hadn't gone to Panera with him, none of this would have happened. Luckily, I've received more evidence that the lack of shame that I possess has been handed down to my child. I just hope I can keep his naughty bits covered for the rest of the summer. Wish me luck!
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