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  • Violins, Violence, Poo, Pooh

    February 13, 2006

    This morning, as I drove Sean to school, he called from the back seat: “Mommy! I got Poo Pants!”

    Oh, no. My heart sank. I was hoping to drop him off and make a quick get away for a 45-minute mini-spa at Starbucks. Yes, it’s to the point that when I can drink a cup of coffee and read the newspaper in peace for 45 minutes, I consider it a “get away”.

    But now with the Poo Pants announcement, I would have to park the car, go into the school, Half Nelson him out of his coat and into the bathroom and onto the changing table. And undoubtedly he would want to take off all of his clothes. Is it just Sean or do all two-year-olds insist on taking off all of their clothes to change a diaper or practice on the potty? I’ve tried to explain to him that in this country it’s customary to remove only whatever clothing is necessary only to the extent that is necessary. He remains unconvinced.

    I was daunted knowing the extraordinary lengths to which I would have to go to prevent a streaker incident while preventing a poo-flinging incident while preventing an Antique gasket blowing incident all within earshot of his teacher, Ms. Kathy who is always polite and cheerful and not the gasket-blowing type. Even when you launch a chocolate cupcake laden with three inches of icing directly onto her pink pants she is still cheerful. I know this from experience.

    When I factored in my YTD caffeine intake, I realized I was badly disadvantaged and it wasn’t looking good for me. Perhaps I could pretend I didn’t know about the poo pants and just drop him off? I was seriously considering that option when we pulled into the school parking lot. I parked the car and as I walked around to the other side to get him, I practiced my inflection under my breath: I — don’t smell anything. I don’t SMELL anything. I don’t smell ANY thing. IDON’TSMELLANYTHINGWHAT’SWRONGWITHYOUPEOPLE???

    As I’m unstrapping the carseat, he points to an embroidered patch featuring Winnie the Pooh on his pants and cheerfully announces, “Mommy! I got Pooh Pants!”

    Oh. Well. That’s different. Never mind.

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