Oh, no she DI-IN'T!

I struggled with a title for this post because the story herein is so traumatic that I had trouble naming it with enough gravity. I think this one captures it....almost.

We took the kids out to the park tonight. It's a park that has one of those monstrous two-story ground-hog tunnel contraptions where kids can crawl hands and knees up to the top and slide down with glee. We were the only ones there and our kids were enjoying having the playground to themselves while Richard and I sat on a nearby bench in a rare moment of refreshing silence.

Avery came bounding over to us all cute with pony tail bouncing and skirt swishing around her knees. "Mom, I have to go pee." "You're gonna have to wait." "AWWWWWWWWWWW IIII CAAAN'TTTT" I've heard this before. Yes, she can wait. I responded with a sarcastic, "Well, I guess you'll just have to pee your pants then." She chirped a much too chipper "OK!" and ran off back to the playland. Richard was concerned that she took me seriously and I scoffed, "No she didn't! She knows not to pee in her pants."

Ten minutes later, Carson came running toward us and proclaimed...."Mom, Avery peed in the playland!"

It was one of those instants of maternal terror when you're worried not so much about what your child just said but if anyone in earshot was able to hear the horrific announcement. Seeing that we were alone with this jewel of knowledge, I probed for confirmation, "Are you sure?" "Yes." "Where?" "At the top of the slide."

Avery came out then looking normal as ever. I asked her to turn around and sure enough, the entire back of her skirt was soaking wet. Not only did she pee in playland, she didn't even have the courtesy to pull down her britches. I hung my head half wanting to laugh, half wanting to cry. I told her that I hadn't meant what I said, but of course couldn't scold her. It's not her fault she didn't get my joke.

I contemplated bolting. I mean, no one was there to see our little "crime" and no one would ever know. Heck, it might have evaporated before tomorrow! But, my conscience struck and so Richard went to the van to find something suitable to clean the mess. All we had was my swim cover up in the back of the car--not nearly heavy duty enough for this job, so my dearly beloved husband sacrificed the t-shirt off of his back and began approaching playland. I said, "No, this is my fault, I'll do it."

And I set my face toward playland and marched up to my fate...

Have you ever seen an adult in a playland? There's a reason why not. It was 95 blazing degrees in there, a claustrophobic, buried alive, grave-like experience...in which I could maneuver only on my backside and/or my knees. Carson led the way through the maze to the very top where I found it--a medium-sized puddle of my daughter's yellow pee spreading across the bottom of the hot green plastic tube. I started sweating and feeling very nauseous. I wiped up the pee with the t-shirt and slid out of there as fast as possible. Breaking free, I saw across the way my sweet husband (shirtless) bucklng my daughter (naked as a jay-bird) into her car seat.

They say that pee is sterile. I sure hope so. Because some poor, innocent kid is going to crawl around up there tomorrow and never know the difference. One thing's for sure....it won't be MY kid!

Why is it that the strongest displays of love between parent and child almost always involve some sort of bodily fluid?