This Is Why I Never Like to Go Out

We decided to have dinner at our favorite Mexican food restaurant. The moment we sat down, Zane announced the he had to use the facilities. My husband announced that it was "my turn". I have no idea by what process a parental 'turn' is determined, but I have learned not to argue.

Zane ran ahead of me and down the little hallway where the bathrooms are. I followed. Zane opened the door to the first room and went in in. I followed, talking to Zane the whole time about staying with me and not running ahead like that, and then two things happened in EXTREME slow motion as I was halfway into the room.

First, I noticed that the sign on the door said "Caballeros", and the tiny refrigerator light in my head went on about five seconds after that as to what that word meant. Second, I saw a man in the room I was about to enter. Lucky for me, he had his back to the door. (there's really not any kind of face-saving comment if he had been turned any other way, is there?)

I think I turned about 72 different shades of red(it was REALLY slow motion!) and backed out of the room, apologizing the whole time. Then I had to stand outside of the room and try to get Zane to come out of there, too. The man in the bathroom was polite, and offered to help, and that was all it took for Zane to open the door and exit.

We moved on. I checked, then checked again, that this next door did NOT say "Caballeros". It did not. Zane and I went into this room, and I locked the door. Zane pulled down his pants, and was trying to pee like he always does--standing up. Except that this bathroom only had a toilet that was the correct height for a person in a wheelchair, not the correct height for a 3 year old who wants to pee standing up. I had a chance to notice that Zane's planned trajectory would not reach the correct landing, and I did what any other completely oblivious mother would do.

"Zane, stop!" Zane did not stop. Zane did, however, turn toward the sound of his mother's voice. And peed all over my shoes, as well as the floor, in the process. I grabbed Zane and sat him on the toilet. He protested, but I tersely pointed out that he was too short and there wasn't a step stool in this bathroom. At this point, someone knocked on the door to indicate that they also needed the facilities, increasing my general sense of panic. While Zane finished up, I grabbed as many paper towels as I could and cleaned up as much as I could(Praise God for the pocket version of Clorox wipes!). Then I washed my feet, then my hands, then I helped Zane wash his hands, then I had to wash MY hands again. Then we had to use a ton of paper towels to clean up THAT mess. Or rather, I had to clean up the mess; Zane had moved on to trying to unlock the door so he could leave the bathroom.

When the two of us finally got back to our table, Larry asked us what took so long. So I punched him right in the face. Okay, I only did that in my head. I actually only glared at him.

But if I had punched him, it would have been totally justified.