pardon my plaque

Remember those 1-800-Dentist commercials from a couple of years ago? You know, the ones where this guy is talking to that quirky girl in the elevator about calling the number to get an appointment. I know those ads are designed to make you feel better about visiting your Dentist but they don’t work for me….I really hate the Dentist.

Today, I had an appointment with my Dentist, and I didn’t even get to see my Dentist. No, I spent an hour and a half with the ‘dental hygienist’, which is another word for ‘masochist’! At first glance, she’s a petite blonde lady in her forties. She’s probably married, with kids and heck…maybe Grandkids. But I feel like after she’s done tearing up my mouth with shots and metal ice picks, she rips off her face and walks out of the office in a Dexter Morgan predator outfit to her kill room. Yeah, you heard me – I’m comparing my hygienist to a serial killer.

The last 1.5 hours had me wondering; how do people decide on this as an occupation? You’re digging in some stranger’s mouth, chipping away at plaque and gross build up. They must make MILLIONS of dollars because that’s what I would charge if I had to do that job. I was also thinking, as she was practically pulling the teeth out of my head, that she may be doing more harm than good, THUS, making it inevitable that I’ll have to come back to have the actual Dentist fix what she broke.  I realized that I don’t really hate my Dentist….I HATE MY HYGENIST!

In other news, the restroom at the Dentist’s office is amazing! So clean and well decorated.  I love the antique looking chest of drawers they have in the room and the  cute artwork. A lit candle that smells like Autumn. Another ploy to get me back in there.  And now…I’m off to take my salt water rinse!

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monday morning mash-up

Construction Worker – Sailor – Potty Mouth….

Yeah, I have been called all of these things and more. I was raised with 3 brothers and to say I was a tomboy for most of my life is an understatement. My brothers will attest that I could “hang” with the best of them be it, cursing, fighting or sports because I just did what they did. It came naturally for me to be ‘one of the boys’. That combined with my Mom’s open door policy of “if I don’t know about it, I can’t help”, there was nothing much sacred in our family. Just ask my husband about the time that my brothers spent 20 minutes trying to get me to discuss his penis size at the dinner table. For most families, this topic would be taboo….for my family, just another conversation! I know what you’re thinking…you can’t wait to come to dinner!

Fast forward to this morning, Monday August 1, 2011.

I would venture to say the best thing about my job is the people I work with. I work with a great group of guys and one of the best things about working with them is they “get” me. Oh, I can be politically correct and professional but I don’t want to, and they are fine with it (or at least they pretend to be…thanks, friends)!

Every Monday, and today was no exception, I go into our IS room where BEE-ILL and XXNickEdgeXX are working (I agreed to use their ‘rapper’ names to protect them). I just stop in to say hello and inquire about how their weekend went.  You would not believe the topics that are discussed in these 15 minute dialogs unless I told you…so here they are:

  • BEE-ILL ripped his big toenail off getting into the shower. At first, he thought it was okay until he took a step and his toenail exploded…there was blood and toenail everywhere!

Segwaying nicely into –

  •  My first experience with a Brazilian bikini wax (full disclosure…to ensure they know my pain)

Then-

  • It sucks to be a girl having to deal with all the things relating to their vagina (I did not initiate this topic, but I was fully involved and totally concur with everything said)

And finally-

  • Maybe the reason some people continue to get by and hang on to their jobs is because they are constantly gargling their boss’ balls!

Of course, I’m paraphrasing but that was basically the jist of it. When I left the room, I thought if this isn’t the best topic for a blog, nothing is! So here it is.  When I told the guys I wanted a picture to go along with my write up, they decided to take it a step further and start doing a weekly Podcast!  I LOVE IT…and count me in! HEY! I wonder if the guys will mind if we call our new podcast “Four Balls and a Vag”?  Catchy!

In writing this, I must say, I’m very glad for 2 things;

  1. I work with guys who are not uptight and “get the joke” that is my vulgarity,
  2. We work on the opposite side of the HR group!

inspiring people….oh i know a few!!!

It’s been almost a year since I started this blog with the very lofty intention of posting something, however little, every day.  Of course, I didn’t attain my goal of posting daily but I have enjoyed jotting down some random thoughts from time to time.

With the state of the world being what it is these days, I’ve been counting my many blessings again and again it seems.  And while I’ve always known how lucky I have been to have the family and friends I do, I have come to realize that so many of the people I know are a real inspiration in my life.  They never get the accolades they deserve and truth be told, they probably would never expect any.  But the fact is they are pretty amazing and deserve to be heralded in some way.  So I’ll attempt to honor them by writing a bit about them on my blog.  It will give me the opportunity to openly express what they mean to me on a personal level and maybe all two of my readers will get to see them in that light.  Tonight, I got to thinking about my Aunt Denise.

My mom has six sisters and six brothers…yes…you read that right, and Aunt Denise is one of her younger sisters.  She just turned 60 this year and we celebrated her in style recently by throwing her a murder mystery party with a celebrity theme.  Everyone dressed up as a celebrity and we all had to figure out how the host of the party was killed and by whom.  As is always the case with our family, we cared way more about partying with each other than we ever did about solving the mystery but we did our best and had a blast doing it.  The best thing about it was that we showered our special Auntie with all the love we could muster, which was our main goal!

We call Aunt Denise the General because she can walk into a room full of strangers, realize immediately why something is not flowing the way it should, take full charge and have it running like a top within minutes of her arrival.  And it will all happen without a big to-do.  She could be the guest at someone’s party and could suggest to them how to make something better and they would follow her advice…and continue to consult her for the rest of the party.  I bet she is the kind of person that people walk up to at Target and ask where shit is, just because she looks like she knows (I hope she knows better than to wear a red shirt in that store).  It’s an uncanny gift and I’m sure she hates it.

When her youngest daughter, Angela, suffered a ruptured brain aneurysm at the age of 12, Aunt Denise never left her side. She became an ‘official’ expert on all things Angela (not that she wasn’t one already) and could tell the new nurses on duty where the last nurse left off and what they would need to do next.  There were many times, early on during those tough years – when Angela first fell ill, that Aunt Denise was warned again and again that her daughter’s condition was grave and to prepare for the worst.  But if she ever gave in to that kind of thinking, nobody ever knew it.  The only option was for her daughter’s health to improve and Aunt Denise would see to it that it did.  Today, Angela is in her 30’s, happily married and doing well. There are issues every now and then and Aunt Denise is always there to make sure things go the way they should.

Oddly, the day before Angela’s brain decided to reboot, my Aunt Margaret (one of my mom’s other sisters) did exactly the same thing.  Aunt Mags (as I like to call her) was married at the time and she stayed that way for a while.  When her husband decided to leave her, he sent word out to the family letting them know that if someone didn’t step up to take care of his now heavily incapacitated wife, he was going to put her in a home someplace in the middle states of the US with no family or friends nearby to support.  Aunt Denise stepped in and took control of the situation, moved her into her home, and has been Aunt Margaret’s constant caregiver and advocate since.  Caring for a grown woman who can’t even meet her own basic needs is a chore of gigantic proportions and my Aunt has been doing it for years…..WAY longer than she should and for less than nothing.  She doesn’t get paid for it; she barely gets any gratitude for it (though I’m sure my Aunt appreciates having someone love her the way her sister does).  And, Aunt Mags lives like a queen at the hands of her sister who works her fingers to the bone to make sure of it.  It’s awe inspiring to see pure selflessness in the flesh.  I could never be so strong!

When my mom retired from her job after more than 30 years, my Aunt Denise opened up her home to her so she could live with her and my uncle.  My mom had been living in Kansas, where she had been working and upon her return to California, she didn’t have any place to stay.  It’s funny, how you don’t realize why things happen the way they do, when they are happening.  I didn’t know, at the time, that my mom would solidify the most important relationships in her life during the time she lived with Aunt Denise (I’m sure she didn’t realize it either, at the time).  I’m talking about the bond that I fondly refer to as the “old broads”.

The old broads are my mom, my Aunt Denise and my Aunt Darlene.  There weren’t many days that these three chicks didn’t hang together.  Once Aunt Mags moved in, she was instantly part of that gang as well.  They were together through thick and thin, in good times and bad…and especially when my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer.  My mom cherished her sisters (as do I) and the time she had with them up until the end of her days are so much more precious to me as I reflect on them now.  I imagine if my mom had decided to live someplace else upon her retirement….she would never have bonded with the Aunts the way she did.  It’s unthinkable to me to not know them this way…as the old broads.  It’s so obvious how it was meant to be now.

My mother eventually succumbed to her dreaded disease. My beautiful Aunts held my hand as I stood by and watched my momma take her last breath, as I chose the music to be sung at her memorial and as I stood to eulogize her in front of family and friends.  They still stand by me today!  They love me like my mom would and defend me with ferocious determination….just like my mom would…if she could.

I’ve said it before…I’m lucky!  Everyone should have an Aunt Denise in their corner and I know most people don’t.  But I DO!  Don’t even think I take that for granted.  Oh and don’t think that the other Aunt isn’t an inspiration…you’ll be hearing more about her in a future post!

So here’s a toast to my Aunt Denise.  I wrote her a poem to recite to her on the occasion of her 60th birthday.  It’s nothing fancy, but straight from my heart.  I love her so much…I just want her (and everyone) to know how amazing she is!!

Footnote: I would be remiss not to mention my Uncle Wayne Stovall.  My Aunt Denise’s husband is brave….not only for defending his country in Vietnam, patrolling the mean streets of Los Angeles as a police officer and ensuring the safety of millions traveling by rail.  But because he endures our incredibly crazy assed family….with a smile and a hug.  I love him too!!!

a tale of becoming a mommy

February 18, 1996

I remember arguing…but not what the argument was about.  I remember crying over it, whatever it was.  But I was hormonal, being 9 months pregnant and everything.  Perhaps that’s why I don’t remember what all the fuss was about.  I do remember going to sleep that night, cuddled up next to my husband, both content with one another and not the slightest bit irritated from whatever upset me earlier in the evening.

Around 1:30 am, I felt a weird ache in my stomach.  It felt, vaguely, like a little gas bubble.  I stayed where I was, fetal and cozy in my bed but I opened my eyes.  It was dark in the room and I could hear the sound of my husband’s breath, softly inhaling and exhaling beside me as he slept.  There it was again, the slightest little churn in my abdomen.  I thought to myself, could this be it?  Would today be the day that I meet my little bundle of joy?  The son, I knew was growing inside of me.  The one I had been dreaming about night after night since I found out he was there?  The little guy I had been in love with since the sound of his first heartbeat so many months before.

I got up and sat on the edge of the bed.  I rested there for a minute and finally decided to get up and walk to the living room.  I sat in an overstuffed chair in the dark.  My mom was asleep on the couch on the other side of the room.  She had been so worried she would miss the delivery that she jumped on the next train out of town to make it to my house, arriving two days prior.  I switched on the TV and kept the volume really low.  There it is again!!  This HAS to be it.  I grabbed a notepad, a pen and a watch with a second hand, time to chart my progress.

My mom woke up around 3:30 am.  By then, I had hours and minutes jotted down on the little notepad next to my hand.  These were definitely contractions and just like my doctor said it would, they made a steady progression through the hours.  “What are you doing up”, my mom said before she could even focus her eyes on me.  “This is it”, I said to her.  I told her about my contractions.  She jumped up, went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee.  She came back and sat down next to me after she grabbed the pen and notepad.  “When they start, say start.  When they stop, say stop”, she said.  It’s weird how having her with me through that early Monday morning was so second nature at the time, and such a amazing gift now, looking back, that she is no longer with me today, fifteen years later.

It was about 6:00 am when the pain in my belly began to make me wince.  The natural birthing nurse taught us to move around during the early part of labor to encourage dilation so that’s what I had been doing.  Walking back and forth, from the kitchen to the living room and through to the office.  Pausing every once and a while when the pain was particularly sharp.  I remember the nurse telling us, if you cannot speak through the contraction, it’s time to come to the hospital.  She also mentioned that I would probably go to the bathroom a lot.  Check and check!  I was definitely on my way.

My contractions were 4 minutes apart.  They were not very long though…maybe about a minute or two.  They were, however, intense and I was getting a little anxious.  I didn’t want to show up to the hospital too early for fear that they would send me home but I didn’t want to give birth at my house either.  It was my mom that finally made the call.  She went in and woke my husband (we left him sleeping so he could be ready for the “good” stuff later on) and she grabbed my bags.  “Let’s go”, she said.  “I wanna meet my grandson today”!  It was 6:30 am when we got to the hospital.

They are going to send me home, I thought as I sat in the ER waiting for the doctor on call.  He came in and “checked” me.  When I say checked, I mean sticking his fingers in my nether region like the mechanic would plunge a dip stick in to check my car’s oil.  Intrusive, to say the least…and the last place you want anyone messing around considering the circumstances!  “2 centimeters”, he said.  “Yep…they’re sending me home”, this time I said it out loud.  A few minutes later, a nurse came around and said to my husband “sign this, we’re going upstairs to labor and delivery…you are going to have a baby today”!  And we were off!

I would give birth to my baby in a room that looked like the hospital’s bedroom.  It had nice wallpaper, a huge wall unit that held a TV, VCR and stereo.  Of course, there was a hospital bed instead of a comfy big bed, like the one in our bedroom but it was kind of nice.  They got me all settled, wrapped my big belly up with a monitor that looked like a belt and connected me up to a machine.  Once it was turned on, I could hear the sound I had, for months, looked forward to hearing at each doctor visit since learning I was pregnant, the sound of my baby’s sweet heart beat.  It was like the most beautiful symphony (to me, anyway)!  They stuck me with an I.V. and then we waited.

Ugh…I want to get up and walk around.  But NO!  They want me on the monitor so they can see everything from the nurse’s station outside.  I take the monitor off and go to the bathroom.  I’m STILL going to the bathroom, and my contractions are like every two minutes.  And they last FOREVER!  Thirty seconds is an incredibly long time to feel that kind of pain.  AND I’M STILL GOING TO THE BATHROOM.  Here comes the nurse with an enema.  She administers it and says wait a few seconds before you go to the bathroom again so it will work.  I didn’t hear the end of her sentence….I was already walking to the bathroom…..AGAIN!!

My in-laws came in to see me.  It’s an open door policy at Martin Luther King, Jr. Medical Center in Anaheim.  My mother-in-law instantly started crying when she saw me in pain.  “Aye, Pobrecita”, she said in Spanish.  A mother of five children, Rosa is no stranger to the birthing process.  The expression on her face reflected my pain exactly.  She kissed my head and hugged her son and then left.  She’d be back when the baby came, till then; she’ll sit in the waiting room.  I looked at my husband and told him, kind of sternly, to go get something to eat.  I could tell I was getting close, and with lunch time nearing, I didn’t want him running off to eat while I was in the heat of my labor.  It was just me and my mom for a while.  My dad trailed in from time to time.  He sat for a few minutes by my bedside and read the paper.  When I would begin to whimper, he’d get noticeably agitated and walk out of the room.  He was still trying to figure out how his 4 year old baby girl got into this predicament.  I’m not sure he ever really liked my husband….today I’m pretty sure he hated him.

At 11:30 am, I asked for some pain killers.  My contractions were still around two minutes apart but I couldn’t catch my breath in between them.  Just a little numbing PLEASE.  The nurse came in with a half dose of Demerol and reminded me of my natural birthing plan.  FUCK THE BIRTHING PLAN….screamed through my thoughts!  Ahhh…relief, it was wonderful and instantaneous.  The nurse walked away mumbling something about the possibility of the medicine slowing my labor down.  Rrrriiiight!!

It’s noon and I’m screaming profanities.  HELLO…didn’t I just get some medicine?  My contractions are ONE!  Just one contraction…constantly contracting.  I feel like my uterus is in a vice.  I’m in some crazy Quentin Tarantino movie and I’m being tortured into spilling the beans about where someone’s money is!!  My husband thinks I’m insane and comments on how the sounds I’m making are not human!  I scream the word SHIT over and over again.  The look on everyone’s face around me is one of utter shock and horror.  I think they’re waiting for me to spit pea soup and for my head to swivel around on my neck.  I think I’m waiting for that to happen too!

I feel like there is someone sitting under the bed, with a lit lighter directly below my “hoo-hoo” (yes, I’m referring to it as my hoo-hoo).  I tell my husband that it’s burning…the baby is coming out, call somebody now.  He presses the button by my bed that calls the nurse and I hear her voice on a loudspeaker somewhere in the room.  My husband calmly tells the nurse that his wife ‘thinks’ the baby is coming.  I interrupt him with SHIIIIIIIT!!  I scream for her to come in.  It’s the lunch time coverage nurse who saunters in, takes one look under the sheet covering my lower body and RUNS out saying she’ll be right back.  Within seconds, my regular nurse comes in.  “Laura, your baby is crowning and the doctor is not here yet”, she says so calmly I have to wonder if she understands what is actually happening.  “I’m going to need for you to really breathe through your contractions until the doctor gets here”!  I wish I could punch her, but my huge belly is in the way.  This is where my mom, the champion comes in.  She says my name sharply enough to command my attention.  When I look at her, I’m focused and she’s staring right into my eyes.  She says “we’re going to count to 30, and every time I say a number, I want you to blow out the candles on your next birthday cake”!  Did I mention that my mom was the most awesome woman in the world?!  Consider it mentioned here!!

When my doctor finally arrives, I scream “Where the hell have you been”!!  He tells me I went too fast and he drove 90 miles an hour to get here.  Then he says, the next time you feel pain, push, not with your upper body, your lower body.  Don’t stop until I say to.  I feel the pain and I push.  The nurse counts to ten and they tell me to stop.  I wait for the pain again and it starts seconds later….I PUSH and suddenly the doctor says STOP!  I feel like I can’t but I try so hard not to.  There’s lots of fussing down below with the doctor and nurses.  The pain starts again and the doctor says “push Laura”!  I close my eyes and push.  I’m still pushing when the doctor says “Laura….open your eyes and meet your son”!  He hands me my baby!  His mouth wide open, in the middle of a silent scream!  Both of his hands right next to his head, palms facing me and wide open.  He finally takes a breath in and yells at his mommy for the first time.  He’s slimy, and full of gunk!  He’s gorgeous and his name is Jordan De Niro Escarcega and on this day, he’s made his father and I the luckiest parents in the whole world!

Thank you, my darling….and happy 15th birthday!  I love you so much!

February 19, 1996, 12:29 pm – 6 pounds, 15 ounces, 19 ½ inches long….just like it was yesterday!!

What the shift?!!

I just found out that I’m a Pisces!!

According to some astronomer guy, the Earth’s alignment has changed, causing the Sun to be in a different constellation therefore, altering the zodiac calendar.  So, my normally April 10, Aries birthday now falls under the Pisces sign.  There’s even a whole new sign that had to be added.  Sheesh!

It’s a bummer because I just read my yearly horoscope (Aries) about a week ago and it was all great news.  I’m destined to finally make a butt-load of cash and all my hard work is going to pay off this year!  I may struggle a little with personal relationships but being the ‘go the extra mile’ Aries that I am; I’d be working that out with no problems.  Awesome, right?!  Uh….think again!!

I’m a Pisces now and all that is out the window.  First of all…I had to look up how to even spell Pisces.  I guess I didn’t realize there was an “S” in that word.  Then I decided to find out what are considered to be the traditional Pisces personality traits and they are:

The positive: Imaginative and sensitive, Compassionate and kind, Selfless and unworldly, Intuitive and sympathetic

On the dark side: Escapist and idealistic, Secretive and vague, Weak-willed and easily led

Um….yeah!  To be fair, here are the traditional personality traits of an Aries:

The positive: Adventurous and energetic, Pioneering and courageous, Enthusiastic and confident, Dynamic and quick-witted

On the dark side:  Selfish and quick-tempered, Impulsive and impatient, Foolhardy and daredevil

I’ve always been told that I have a bit of a fiery personality so it suited me that I was an Aries.  Now what?!  Isn’t Pisces a water sign?!  I like water…I like swimming…I hate fish so where does that leave me?  I’m confused!

Now, instead of blaming my foolhardy and daredevil ways on my zodiac sign, I have to fess up to just being an idiot when I do the dumb shit I do.  Not as much fun as blaming the stars, I’m afraid!  Of course, now I’m weak willed and easily led…so that could be the reason for the stupid stuff I do now….maybe it’ll all pan out!

In the end though, isn’t all a bunch of hooey?!  I wonder if the astronomer who came up with the “new” zodiac sign hated his sign and decided to do something about it.  Sounds like he was a wishy-washy Pisces and now he’s a quick witted, impulsive Aries!  Or is it the other way around?!  Well, I think I’m complaining in the wrong direction.  Just like a Pisces!  Or…..oh who cares!!!

 

Merry Christmas!

Sitting home with the family, watching holiday movies and waiting for Santa, I’m feeling a little sad knowing that when I wake up tomorrow, I won’t get that early morning call that I would normally get on Christmas morning.  It’s been nine months since my mom passed away and it doesn’t get easier.  Just this week, our family took a trip down to visit my in-laws and my mother in-law took me aside and asked if I was missing my mom.  I told her yes and she said it will never change….I’ll always miss her.  Having survived her own mother’s death, many years ago, she spoke with a voice that knew that fact personally. I said that at least I have her and she said yes…1/2 a mom is better than none at all.  She’s a keeper.

I’m thinking back to my childhood Christmas past and how my brothers and I would wake up before the sun and just sit and wait till 7 am.  That was the rule, we couldn’t get my mom out of bed till then.  And once the clock struck 7, it was utter pandemonium with wrapping paper and toys strewn everywhere.  My single mother, who never had any money to spare, always found a way to come through for us on Christmas morning.  It was always amazing!

I remember when I learned that Santa and Mommy were the same. One night a few evenings before Christmas, many years ago, my mom and I used to share a bedroom. I wasn’t asleep when she came sneaking in and opened the closet and I could see the Barbie airplane in there.  My heart skipped a beat….I was dying for that toy.  I couldn’t be sad about the realization that Santa didn’t really come to our house on Christmas Eve because I was so excited at the prospect of getting that darn toy! I remember the utter joy of opening it up on Christmas morning!  Who cares who dropped it under the tree!

Well, I am reliving the thrill of those times now through my five year old’s eyes.  He’s so excited he can barely stand himself.  When we recently gathered at my Aunt’s for our annual family Christmas party, he opened his presents and kissed them in their boxes because they were exactly what was on the letter he wrote to Santa.  He kept saying that he hoped Santa knew he had already gotten this toy.  Even now, sitting next to me…he keeps looking out the window to see if he can catch a glimpse of Santa coming this way. And he keeps asking me to check NoradSanta.com to track Santa’s whereabouts (ahhh the joys of the internet).  I can’t wait for him to wake up and see his gifts under the tree!

It’s funny how life changes through the years.  When you’re single and living for yourself, you desire things and opportunities.  Then you marry, and have children and your focus changes from yourself to them….and isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?  I’m so lucky and blessed to have the 3 special boys in my life that I do, I wouldn’t change it for the world.

So, in the past, I would wish for ‘things’ on Christmas morning but tomorrow, when I wake up, I’ll just wish for more of the same.  That I can keep the healthy, happy family and friends that I have and continue to grow with and love them every day that passes.  That I have the patience to listen to them when they need my ear and the knowledge to guide them when they need direction.  That I can be a place of safety and warmth when they need that comfort and the confirmation that they really are a gift and perfect in the eyes of so many when they feel less so.  That I am able to hold them close but not so much that they cannot find their own way in life.

I just described my mom in those last wishes for myself.  She was my ear when I needed someone to listen.  She was the voice of reason when I needed the truth…sometimes the hard truth.  My safe haven and confidant.  The one true witness to my whole life, just as I am to my children.  The hole she left when she passed is giant and the only way I can see to fill it, if at all, is to work to be as good a mom to my kids as she was to hers.  To honor her in that way is the only way I can keep her close by.

Merry Christmas, everyone!  May the blessing of Christmas Day follow you throughout the New Year and beyond!

OH…and let me address the photos I posted of Jaden.  They were taken at my Aunt’s house and he’s holding one pillow that says “naughty” on one side, and “nice” on the other.  It really does say it all!!  Naughty or Nice…it could go either way!!

 

 

toilet talk

Murphy’s Law!  “Anything that can go wrong, WILL go wrong”!  Does this happen to you?!  And if so, how frequently and to what degree?!  For instance, I KNOW that my kid is going to give me grief every morning when it’s time to get up and get ready for school.  But I don’t count on losing my keys, not being able to find a shoe, having a flat tire, etc.  And these things happen, and kind of often.  Must be Murphy’s Law, right?!!

This brings me to one of those things that can only happen to me….but first, a background inquiry!  What is the deal with the “going #2 in a public potty” fear?  Today, I took my youngest to his Kindergarten orientation.  In the middle of it he announced he had to go potty.  In Kindergarten, the potty stalls are inside the classrooms so they aren’t super private.  My little one goes in and strips down to “drop the kids off at the pool”.  He’s totally comfortable about it.  He doesn’t know any better because he’s been trained that when he has to go…just take care of business, wipe, flush and wash & dry your hands.  So when does the public pooping fear kick in.  What’s the worst that can happen?

You know how it is when you have to go.  You know it’s going to be a good one (and don’t act like you don’t grade them….we all do)!  I went into a public restroom because I KNEW this was it!  I was going to “drive the browns to the super bowl” and it was going to feel great!  And without being too graphic, I’ll just say…it was SPECTACULAR!  It’s even more beautiful because nobody came in while I was ‘doing the deed’, it was as private as possible, given the circumstances.  Amazing!!  UNTIL, I go to flush it all down…and the damn toilet is broken!  Seriously?!  The toilet doesn’t work?!

My mind immediately shifts into emergency mode.  Like McGyver trying to deactivate a bomb with a paperclip and some gum, I have seconds to figure out how to fix this mess.  If I can’t, I gotta get out of there because GOD forbid if anyone walks in and finds me in there with a present I made for the Ocean that I can’t give!  I literally give myself like 10 seconds and unfortunately (for the poor soul coming in next) I can’t ‘will’ the broken toilet to work.  So I run out of the stall, wash up and dash out.  I think to myself, if I happen to run into anyone I know having a conversation about how they walked into the public restroom and found something disgusting there because some slob didn’t flush away the evidence, I’ll join in and share my disgust!!  For the record, after walking out I found that the water pipes were being repaired and the water was just turned off.  On my way back past the restroom I stopped in, found my present…still present….and was able to make it all go away!

I feel like I can’t accurately describe the sense of panic I felt when I couldn’t get that toilet to flush.  It was heart pounding and my guess is, most people would feel exactly the same in that situation.  My question is…WHY?!  There was no sign on the door saying that people were working on the pipes so don’t use the toilet.  I went in thinking all was in order.  It’s not like I was just forgetful and didn’t flush, I tried, it wouldn’t.  So why the shameful, embarrassed feeling?!  It’s just poo poo!  Everyone does it.  Shit, I celebrate it!  I called my husband after it happened to tell him about it (I know…what a lucky guy)!!

I bet the majority of people have the same public restroom phobia and maybe it’s just that I’m older but this experience made me realize that it’s too stupid to worry about any more.  I’m too old to worry about whether or not someone will “judge” me for pooping in the public potty so I’m done!  So I just want to say….”I’m sorry”!!!  I have to go #2 and I’m doing it whether you’re in there with me or not. I promise to clean up after myself (unless the toilet is broken) and use the facilities for what they are meant for.  Tease me if you must but I feel better already…and isn’t that what the public potty is all about?  Now if you’ll excuse me…I gotta go “make a deposit in the porcelain bank”!!!