Guest Blog, Mediocre Mom Corner
I would say my attitude and maturity level reflected my age until somewhere around central Kansas. We packed food to save both time and money, but that also meant I became a short order chef every half hour for the entire trip. My family liked to space out their food requests so I could keep my heart rate and blood pressure at a steady calorie burning level so as not to lose any conditioning in my mom muscles on this trip. After 400 miles of taking food requests, unpacking the food, finding the food, preparing the food and repacking the food, my attitude and maturity level plummeted to that of a prepubescent teenage girl. During this entire demise, the rational side of my brain was telling me to shut up and grow up, while the irrational side crossed her arms, rolled her eyes and slouched in her seat. Jesse, sensing my bad mood, got extremely quiet and focused intently on the road hoping, I’m sure, that if he stayed still enough I wouldn’t snap at him.
TheBigDamnTanMomVan is a humble but superbly adequate vehicle; no DVD player, no flat screen suspended from the ceiling, just good old power steering and air conditioning for which we are eternally grateful. In the beginning of July, we packed up our beige chariot with our 3 & 4 year old sons, our newly adopted old lady bloodhound and enough food to sustain us on our journey that should take somewhere between 11 hours and forever. This would be the second summer we drove to Colorado from Missouri to spend a week with my husband’s side of the family, and while I was feeling confidant that the trip would be successful, I was extremely low on energy and patience as we just finished up a week of volunteering at Vacation Bible School.
I would say my attitude and maturity level reflected my age until somewhere around central Kansas. We packed food to save both time and money, but that also meant I became a short order chef every half hour for the entire trip. My family liked to space out their food requests so I could keep my heart rate and blood pressure at a steady calorie burning level so as not to lose any conditioning in my mom muscles on this trip. After 400 miles of taking food requests, unpacking the food, finding the food, preparing the food and repacking the food, my attitude and maturity level plummeted to that of a prepubescent teenage girl. During this entire demise, the rational side of my brain was telling me to shut up and grow up, while the irrational side crossed her arms, rolled her eyes and slouched in her seat. Jesse, sensing my bad mood, got extremely quiet and focused intently on the road hoping, I’m sure, that if he stayed still enough I wouldn’t snap at him.
So it was in this state of distress and disarray that we found ourselves in west Kansas, not a single building or tree in sight, no idea how many miles away the next gas station or rest stop was, when our 4 year old boldly declared, “I have to poop. Right now. You better pull over. I gotta poop.”
Jesse glanced in the rear view mirror at Bryce, “Can you hold it buddy? Or do you have to go now?”
“I gotta go. You better pull over.”
As he signaled and pulled off at the exit Jesse muttered, “I am excited about this.”
I helped Bryce out of the car, walked him a few feet away from the van and, right in front of God and everyone traveling west bound down I-70, watched my son wilderpoo on the side of the interstate. I’m sure I would have been embarrassed if I wasn’t so irritated. We got a couple of honks from passing cars, I’d like to think they were from other parents sending friendly encouragement saying We have been there. It will all be over soon.
In hindsight, I should have grabbed the wipes before getting out of the van, but as I was tired and functioning at the level of a moody teenager, I did not.
“Bryce, I’m going to get wipes and antibacterial gel, so stay right there…..OK? Don’t. Move. No no no no no…. Don’t move! DON’T move! Don’t…AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!! You STEPPED in it! I told you not to move!!!”
That’s right. He stepped in his own poo. And part of me died. And I yelled. And he cried. I tromped over to the van, swung open the door and started rummaging around for cleaning supplies and holy water. Jesse, observing my general state of pissiness and Bryce standing with his pants around his ankles crying, gently asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I just watched Bryce take a huge dump!” Lowering my voice to a hiss I continued “then he STEPPED in it!” Jesse turned back around facing forward and resumed his intense interest in the steering wheel.
After getting everyone and everything cleaned up, we got back in the van and resumed our trip with the most uncomfortably silent five minutes of driving you could imagine. Jesse focusing on the road as hard as he could, me with my arms crossed staring intently out the window and Bryce crying quietly in the seat. The silence was broken by a soft, almost inaudible sentence as Gavin whispered, “I better go potty.”
Luckily, all he had to do was pee, and I had gained my sense of humor back and snapped a picture so we could capture, forever and for always, the most magical of moments in parenting.