I Really Need More Advil

Oh. My. Goodness. Guess what today included:

A. A three year old who slept in our bed all last night due to a “tummy ache.”
B. 1 clogged toilet
C. An “accident” which was simply vile.
D. A flood at the preschool. Which we caused.
E. All of the above

If you answered “E,” you’re a winner! Come and collect your prize* today!

I should have known, after all. It’s been FOUR days since we had anything “eventful” in the bathroom arena. The boy came to us last night because he had a tummy ache. This might be funny someday. Emphasis on “might.”

We went to library, and I had him sit on the toilet there. Nothing happened. We went to preschool, and he sat on the toilet there TWICE. Again, nothing. Absolutely nothing. I should have known the floodgates were just waiting to open until the middle of circle time. Instead, I blithely went to the parent’s meeting to listen to people ramble on about recipes and to suck down another cup of coffee.

A knock.

“We need Matthew’s mommy, please.”

There are no words that can strike terror into your heart like those words coming from a preschool teacher. Not that I thought anything happened to him. I was worried about what he did. Matthew is the creative sort, you see. I go downstairs and see my boy standing next to the craft table, drenched and reeking. I take him into the bathroom, strip him down, and get started.

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPH MAY CONTAIN GRAPHIC CONTENT. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

I go to dump the solid material into the toilet. This takes more skill than you might think, as cotton underwear have a certain element of “bounce.” I miss, of course. Thank goodness for the large roll of toilet paper, because I really needed it right then. There is, of course, a soiled and naked three year old dancing about the stall while I am trying to perform this delicate operation.

“HOLD STILL. DON’T MOVE. MATTHEW! HOLD. STILL.” I whisper-scream (any mother knows how this is done).

I finish cleaning up the bathroom area and start to work on the three year old. I get him as clean as he’s going to get, and pull a new pair of underwear out of the backpack. A completely unfazed Matthew comments, “oh, I love race-car underwear!” I reach into the backpack for a new pair of pants, and realize I forgot to pack a new pair of pants. The wet ones go back on. With some blessing, his socks and shoes are unsoiled.

I reach over to flush the toilet. Did you know there is a certain gurgling sound that will cause you to instinctively jump back? Let’s just say that Old Faithful has nothing on the child-sized toilet at First Covenant preschool.

“Mommy! There water everywhere! Mommy, you break it!”

Thanks, kid. I wasn’t quite sure what happened, but now it is perfectly clear to me.

I go to the classroom door to ask where a plunger might be located. My appearance prompts eleven 2 year old children to break into tears. “Where my mommy go? I want my mommy!” A weary and annoyed preschool teacher arrives at the half-door and says, “We don’t like parents down here because it upsets the other children.”

Um, yeah. OK, remember that YOU brought ME down here, right? I ask her for a plunger and a little light bulb seems to go off in her head. Oh, yeah. That’s why you’re down here. You’re Matthew’s mom.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get someone to take care of it later. Just bring Matthew back in so he can have his snack."

Fine, teach. Your lake. There is no way Matt can go back since he has pants that are soaking wet. I explain this little dilemma and they whip out a pair of “emergency pants” from their cupboard.

I go back into the bathroom, where Matthew is happily standing on a chair in the middle of the growing puddle. . ”I’m on an island! OH, NO! I’m sinking!” accompanied by a dramatic swoon. I pull Island Boy off his island and take off the wet pants again, and replace them with the preschool-issue khakis. They actually fit him quite well, so that was a relief.

I release him back into the classroom (which inspires more “where my mommy go??!!!” shrieks from the other two year olds) and head upstairs. Where I had myself a lovely little cocktail of Advil and coffee. Is today over yet?

He looks so innocent... when asleep!

*Prize measures 39” in height and weighs approximately 34 pounds. Winner assumes responsibility for shipping expenses. No returns or exchanges are allowed. Any whining, screaming, laughing, and other traits are due to the inherent variability of the product and are to be expected.