I picked the boys up after work, and we headed to grab a bite to eat before going home.
Earlier in the day, we'd talked about going to a sandwich place that the boys like (for reasons other than sandwiches).
Unfortunately, we passed by "N-Donalds" (complete with outdoor playground), and within an instant I knew I was toast.
Somewhat begrudgingly, we pulled in to N-Donalds.
Actually, dinner went well. The boys ate food, and then enjoyed some time on the playground.
They didn't even complain when I gave them the 5 minute/2 more slides warning.
Then, all of a sudden, it happened.
Big Brother blurted out, "Dad-E, I have to go poop! Bad!"
Okay. Remain calm. Remain calm. Please proceed to the nearest exit.
I told Big Brother to put his shoes on. I got our stuff together, and started to gather up small children.
By contrast, Big Brother just stood there in a daze, apparently very focused on not pooping.
Eventually, we made it to the potty. Just the 4 of us, cozily crammed into the only stall in the bathroom.
Big Brother sat down to do his business, and I tried to run interference with the other boys.
This is no small task, because when Big Brother goes potty, it takes about as long as Mom-E spent in labor with him (13 hours).
2 minutes into his "labor", Little Brother was trying to climb the toilet paper roll, while Bab-E Brother was trying to swim under the door. Meanwhile, Big Brother has taken his sandals off to get more comfortable.
5 minutes into this "project", Little Brother blurts out, "I've got to go poop, too! Bad!"
Dilemma: The slow pooper is on the can. The fast pooper's gotta go, too. And I'm holding a squirmy toddler who's now smacking me in the face and laughing about it (as my prize for holding him to keep him from commando crawling on the McDonald's bathroom floor).
Feeling like a general in battle, I "relieve Big Brother of
I have to put Bab-E Brother down to help lift Little Brother up onto the potty.
Little Brother proceeds to take off his sandals.
Bab-E Brother proceeds to try to throw them IN the potty.
While I'm trying to help Big Brother put his sandals, Bab-E Brother is now trying to dunk his hand into the potty.
And then share with the group.
(When we get home, I'm burning everyone's clothes. Twice.)
Little Brother finishes his business, a grand total of about 3 pebbles.
I ask Big Brother to finish going potty, to which he replies "I don't have to go anymore."
We've just spent 15 minutes in a crammed McDonald's bathroom stall, with Dad-E getting slapped around, literally and figuratively. Covered our clothes and hands with all kinds of unknown drug-resistant bacteria, all for a grand total of 3 pebbles of poop.
Bloody lovely. Just bloody lovely.
We wash hands (even though it's somewhat futile) and leave.
I've decided that I need to boycott this particular N-Donalds.
After all, this is the very same one where Bab-E Brother spewed all over me.
Apparently I have some bad karma there.
Have a good weekend,