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I live in the Northwest.  Rain is part of the package.  In fact, it is 99% of the way we do life here.  My daughter, Sydney, who is a native, has made it very clear to me that there is a difference between rain, drizzle, and a slight sprinkle.  It’s pretty much all the same to me.  When wet stuff falls from the sky – hard, soft, fast or slow – I call it rain.

 

A couple of days ago, I was waiting to pick Sydney up in the carpool line at her school.  We were parked a good distance from the building.  On a dry day it would make for a nice, refreshing jaunt.  On a day like this one in particular, it could only be defined as something out of a nightmare.  We were getting dumped on.  The real rain was pouring.  After I had given Jackson and Brooklyn their stave-off-the-boredom-while-waiting-for-their-sister-snacks, Jackson started bouncing in his seat saying, “Mommy, I need to go potty.”  (This seems all too familiar to me.)  “How bad?” was my reply (hoping the bouncing was more for dramatic effect).  “Mommy, I need to go potty now!”  “Can you wait until we get to Sydney’s ballet school (which is a good thirty minutes away)?” Futile.  The poor guy needed to go.  What to do?

 

As I visualized myself wading through the puddles and raindrops with two children and a broken umbrella, I could feel a panic attack coming on (I’ve never had one, but I’m pretty sure that’s what was happening to me).  Not to mention that I was dressed “up” for a class I would be teaching that evening (a parenting class, no less).  I found an old zip-lock baggy, and was struck with instant inspiration.  Maybe he could tinkle in the baggie?  But then what?  There was no trash nearby…nowhere to dispose the evidence.  Jackson was beginning to wriggle and bounce even more intensely.  Then I noticed one of my water bottles.  I brought two with me that afternoon: one for the car, and one for later.  I quickly chugged the remaining water from bottle number one and turned to Jackson.

 

“Jackson, you are going to go pee-pee in this bottle.”

 

The look on Jackson’s face was a mixture of confusion, shock. and a little fear.

 

“Jackson, this is going to be fun.  You are going to put your pee-pee in this water bottle!”

 

I began unfastening him.  He was warming up to the idea.  We got everything situated…and…”tah-dah!”…mission accomplished.

 

The first words out of Jackson’s mouth were, “Mommy, this is fun!” 

 

“Yes, it is.”

 

Then he added, “Look!  It’s yellow!  My favorite color!”

 

Oh happy day!

 

Have no fear.  The contents were emptied out on an unsuspecting bush later after the rain died down.  And as far as I can tell, there has been no emotional damage done.

 

So, tell me…when all else fails, what do you do?

 

Friday’s Free Advice:  Share your “When All Else Fails” stories.  I would certainly love to hear them!  Mommy moments are much more fun when shared with other mommies…who have been there a time or two.

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3 Responses to “Friday’s Free Advice – When All Else Fails…”

  1. Jennifer says:

    I’m not a mommy, but I SO remember my dad having my brother do this when he was little. It wasn’t a water bottle (no one BOUGHT water like that when I was young) but was a cup of some kind. We were late, my dad didn’t want to stop, my brother really had to go, and that was the solution! Pretty sure it didn’t scar either one of us, but its definitely a memory. :)

  2. Amy says:

    Thanks, Jen. :) I was informed by some of my friends, who have boys a few years older than Jackson, that this experience was my initiation into having boys! So funny…I’m just glad Brooklyn didn’t have to go!

  3. Judy Hayburn says:

    I loved your post today. It reminded me of one Sunday morning in Kenya when you were about 12 and we had gone to a Kikuyu church for ministry. I’m sure you remember our routine. We always packed the car with plenty of water bottles, in case we broke down on one of the pothole-riddled country roads, a stash of snack foods, our trusty boom box for playing background music for you and Jen to sing, “I Have Decided”, and several rolls of TP. Our highway rest stops in those days consisted of a stop along the road and finding the best bush to go behind. Our Sunday mornings would begin quite early and by the time we returned home, it was mid-afternoon. As was our custom following church, we went to the pastor’s house for lunch and the only place to go potty was in an outdoor “choo”, which looks like an outhouse on the outside, but has a hole in the dirt floor instead of a stool. At least it had a little wider opening than a water bottle. Manuevering in a tiny dark space dressed up in your Sunday dress and patent leather shoes was very challenging to say the least. I’ll never forget the look on your face when you came out of the choo nearly in tears because you almost lost lost your shoe in the hole. However, you survived the trauma and have gone on to be a great mom and a gifted writer. I can’t wait for the book you will write some day.

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