Confessions of a Professional Mom

Confessions of a Professional Mom

Professional mom seeking clarity, balance and a well deserved glass of wine.

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Bathroom Dilemma

September 30, 2011 ,

Here’s a scenario that happened just yesterday…ahem, to a “friend”. See if this sounds familiar.

So, my “friend” and her two daughters (11 and 4) are at a local shopping center when “nature calls.” Must find restroom. Once seated safely inside the stall the 4-year old decides she has to go too. My “friend” realizes nature’s calling for a longer stay, so sends her daughter to her own stall for a moment of peace. Peace! What a silly thought. Daughter calls out, “Mom, I’m done, come wipe me.” To which my “friend” replies, “Ok, honey, and asks older daughter to please wipe her sister. Ya, right! Not happening. Please, she begs. No way, says daughter No. 1. “Friend” calls out, “Honey, I’m gonna be just a minute, can you wait?” Meanwhile, other restroom goers have entered and are now witness to the bathroom dilemma.

Daughter No. 1 decides she should stand inside the stall with Daughter No. 2. Whining ensues. “Get out!” “No, it’s fine!” “Girls, stop fighting!” “Mom, she won’t get out!” “Girls, really?!” Screaming starts. Did I mention how much sound echo’s in public restrooms? “No, get out, where’s Puppy?!” “You don’t need puppy right now, just be quiet and wait for mom.” “Girls, seriously, I’ll just be one more minute.” “Please get out of the stall and leave your sister alone.” “But, I’m not doing anything.” More screaming here.

As beads of sweat begin to well up, my “friend” wishes she could eat some magic fairy shrinking paste and dive into the toilet. Maybe to be flushed to a tropical island somewhere with large frozen alcoholic beverages and cones of silence. More screaming here.

Finally, nature is done calling. Holy shit! Who knew that dodging into the restroom could produce an argument, screaming, hemorrhoids and a hot flash. Did I mention also that hand washing can produce more whining, arguing and result in a death stare. If only the death stare could actually result in blowing the children up with your mind powers.

Exit stage left. (stop staring at us….Yes, I’m a bad mother and these are my bad kids!)
Crazy, party of one.

Stay sane, my friends.


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