"When Shannie has to go... Shannie has to go"
Apparently many of our "issues" have to do with the bathroom, sorry about that!! When Shannie has to go... Shannie has to go. Most likely when Shannie has to go, it's already too late.
Picture this... a nice leisurely walk to the nearby park, soccer ball and kite in hand. We were ready! 10 minutes upon our arrival.
Shannie: "Mom! I have to go potty!!"
Mom: "Didn't you go right before we left home?"
Shannie: "Yes, but this time I have to go poop!"
Mom: (in my head: OH SH@#$!, literally) I didn't bring any supplies! (Shannie needs supplies, usually wipes, extra underwear, the whole deal... we have, what is quietly termed, potty issues)
Mom: "Well, it is a park, and there are dogs who poop here, so we'll just go find a tree." (yeah, I know.. shining parenting moment #437)
Mom: (after locating a tree with no poison ivy, use your imagination here... its was umm quite comical)
"Here's a good one honey, just lean up against this tree, relax, and the poopy will just fall right out!" (yeah... right!!)
Shannie: (what seems like hours later, as I watch for dog walkers, joggers, and that guy that plays golf on the soccer field right about this time ever day) "Success mom!!"
Mom: "Well done Shannie, now let's use these leaves to wipe your bottom" ( I was SURE it wasn't poison ivy)
Shannie: (always obedient, giggly, and pleasant, well okay mostly) gladly obliged.
We continued on with our park play, no worse for wear and with a funny little story to share.
***Until the next day***
While sitting at dinner...
Dear Husband: How did you scratch your face like that it looks terrible (he's not heartless, it really looked terrible, and it was said with genuine concern)
Me: "I don't remember scratching my face, but now that you say it, it does kind of hurt a little." (thinking nothing of it)
***The next morning***
Me: (to dear husband) "does this look like poison ivy on my face?"
Dear Husband: (trying not to laugh, but failing miserably, used all his boy scout skills and diagnosed the mysterious scratch) "nope, but it sure looks like poison oak!"
Me: "Poison Oak!? How did I get poison oak on my face?"
(Suddenly it dawns on me... potty issues, in the park, leaves, tree...)
To end this lovely story, imagine the look on the doctors face when I walk in with poison something on my face, trying to explain how I got it and that most likely that poison something was also all over my sweet daughters backside, just not yet visible. Then, imagine hearing the snickers and giggles from the nurses as the story was shared up and down the hallway, I mean seriously... what's a good story if it isn't to give others joy and giggles.