I had to drive down to work today, for just a sec. (had to get my blood drawn--and can I just say that while the lovely young lady who took my blood didn't hurt me, she bruised me...surprising, because I have a vein that resembles an anaconda, and there's no reason for there to be a bruise...whatever.)
Work is around 30 minutes away. I had to be there at 9, the kids go in to school at 7:50, and what with rush hour, I knew I was gonna have to boogie to make it. No problem.
Got the kids to school--check. Remembered to get gas--yes. Sneak down a back way to get to the freeway--heehee, of course. I'm turning onto the freeway, and I hear a little voice say: "Mommy, my stomach hurts." Ugh. Nooo! I know what the next words will be, and I was right: "I have to go to the bathroom."
"Are you sure? Because I'm on the road, and I can't really stop right this second. Can you wait until we get to Mommy's work, or do I need to pull over?" "Pull over." "Mommy's work," I plead. As I say that, though, I realize that it's not a guaranteed straight shot into work, it's gonna be a while. And it's not fair to make her hold it. And I need to stop or she's gonna have an accident and it'll be all my fault. Sigh. I stay in my lane so I can get off at the next exit, planning to pull into the first place I see with a toilet.
Unfortunately for both of us, we are in a residential area. I have to drive a couple of miles before we get to a service station, and I am praying they have a bathroom inside, but have a sneaky suspicion that they don't, as I see no indications of one as we drive up. I risk it anyway, park, and grab Audrey. As we walk inside, I ask the clerk, "Do y'all have a bathroom?" She hesitates for a split second, but she realizes that it's for the toddler and not me, and shows me to the back of the store. I'm trying not to focus on what Remo refers to these places as ("stop and rob") while we are squeezing around crates of soda and maneuvering to the bathroom door. I'm just grateful the lady let us back there, it's hardly the time to envision stocking-capped thugs storming the place. It's a pee emergency, afterall. Mommy needs to take a chill pill.
The bathroom is small, but very, very clean. (Yay!) It's painted a lovely shade of lilac and I'm ashamed to admit, nicer than the bathroom at work. Foamy soap. Nice towel dispenser. It's loud in there with the fan, I can't hear anything but what's happening in the bathroom, so once again I have to tell my imagination to take a hike.
I plop the princess on the can, and wait.
You've got to be kidding me, I'm thinking to myself. All that, and she's not going. Not a drop. Not a plop. Hmm, was that beer I saw out there stacked up with the sodas?
"Honey, are you done?" "Just a minute." I wait a couple of more minutes before asking again. "Yeah, I'm done." Nothing is there, but I clean her up and flush the toilet anyway.
"Feel better?" I ask her as I buckle her back into her carseat. "Yes," she says, "much."
I figure we'll still make it on time, and it's better to risk the wrath of my coworker who set up the blood draws to begin with than to risk the wrath of my three year old should she have an accident, especially since I left her change of clothes at home. Ooops!
It seems that I have been blessed with patience today.
It's too bad that my short-term memory appears to have been sacrificed to get it.
That little purple thing stuck to my dashboard? It's a Post-it, with my list of things to do today on it.
All three of them.