April 9, 2009

• In case you didn’t hear my shouts of glee that traveled round the globe, Jamie is potty trained.  Today I almost *almost* wished he wasn’t.   We were picking up some paint and canvases at Michaels for the living room when suddenly he was hopping around holding his crotch and eying the clearanced easter baskets like a dog looks at a fire hydrant (I blame Jim for teaching him it was ok to pee in the backyard).   Why is it that little kids either don’t need to go, or they absolutely-must-have-to-pee-that-very-second?   We took off in a mad dash through the store with Jamie insisting that he didn’t mind peeing in a bucket, and me begging him to hold it until we got to the bathroom.   Sweet relief, we made it to the bathroom without taking out anything breakable or expensive from my mad cart driving skills.  But the bathroom was locked (both of them, because which is worse… pee all over the picture frames or a woman in the mens room?).   It wasn’t like anyone was using the bathroom, it was a regular, multi stall bathroom with a push open door that someone had so thoughtfully padlocked shut.  

  I briefly considered letting him actually use a bucket and then buying it, but instead I hollered for Jamie to hang on just a minute longer while we careened through the store looking for an employee.   There. were. none.  
  The bucket idea was quickly becoming the most viable option, but in a last ditch effort I pounded like an idiot on the “employees only” door in the back, hoping that it would (remarkably) contain an employee.   There were several moments in time where I stopped pounding and yelling because really…I looked and sounded like a delirious idiot, but then I’d picture Jamie saying “look what I peed on mom!” and my hopless resolve would be strengthened and I kept pounding on the door, which an eternity later was opened by an icy woman who made me feel about an inch tall with one look.   Of course unlocking the bathroom was absolutely the biggest inconvenience in the world for her, but I was in too big of a hurry to really care.   Got Jamie in, got Charlie in, couldn’t get the cart in so left it outside the bathroom in and went barreling in with a kid under each arm.   I had just gotten Jamie situated when I realized that I’d left my wallet sitting on the seat of the cart.    Being just two feet from the door, I lurched out again to grab the wallet only to find the door locked on my return.   Seriously?   I’m not sure what the protocol is in that situation.   They didn’t really cover it in any of the parenting books I read.   Do you leave the kid unattended while you go find someone to unlock the door, or do you sit outside the door and wait until someone wanders by, meanwhile your three year old is doing who the hell knows what in a room coated with germs like crispy creme coats their donuts.

  I had to resort to pounding on the bloody “employees only” door again, which of course was eventually opened by Atilla the Hun. De ja vu.   I meekly asked her to unlock the door again.   If looks could kill, I would definitely be dead.  I kindasorta wished I were dead.
  I quickly and quietly got Jamie washed up and out of there, grabbed the last few things on my list and headed for the only checkout that was open…with the only employee who apparently works in the whole store.  Yes, her.  Despite my best attempts to melt into the floor I still had to pay for my stuff and she had definitely not forgiven me yet for ruining her morning (hey, at least she didn’t have to clean urine off of anything, how was I supposed to know they deadbolt all their bathrooms every second of the day).    She finished off my lovely experience with Michaels and their non existent employees, by ordering Jamie out of the back of the cart because yes, that’s a violation of store rules.  

  We got to the parking lot and Jamie announced he had to go poop.  

  

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