I considered showing you another shot of my real-life, unkempt home. Sadly, there are so so many to choose from.
But then I decided to mix it up a little and, instead, paint for you a real life picture of a real life event which occurred very recently, leaving me mortified and thoroughly humiliated. Everyone likes a good mortified and humiliated story, right? Especially when it happened to someone else?
WARNING: If you are a boy, CEASE AND DESIST READING IMMEDIATELY. I REPEAT. CEASE AND DESIST.
A few days ago, Matt, the kids, and I were in a restaurant when Jeb decides he needs to go “potty.” Since I need to go, too, and since (I am told) the boys’ bathrooms are messier than the girls’, I take him into the women’s restroom with me.
Once we get inside, I realize that it’s “that time.” (If there is a boy still reading this… I TOLD YOU TO STOP!) I begin rummaging through my bag to find what I need, and while I’m doing my very best to make sure Jeb doesn’t notice… he notices.
I need to pause and note that we were not the only ones in restroom. A few people were at the sinks, and there were women in the stalls on either side of us.
And all of a sudden my son yells (not speaks loudly… yells), “Oh no, Mama! You need band aid!”
I literally cover his little mouth with my hand and whisper, “No, Baby. Mommy’s ok. Just turn and look at the door.”
He is not convinced. Not even close and says, “I go get Daddy.”
I am furiously hurrying to “get things taken care of” and get us out of there, assuring him that Mommy is ok and that there is no need for Daddy. (It would probably have helped if my bag wasn’t as big as Texas, and finding a feminine product in there is like finding Waldo.)
Still, he’s concerned. Very. Very Concerned.
Finally, I find what I’m looking for and am almost ready to go when my child gets down on his hands and knees and begins to crawl out of the stall, saying, “I go tell Daddy you need band-aid, Mom. Ok? I go tell him.”
So as I’m trying to finish what I’m doing, I grab his leg just in time and drag him back under. At this point, the lady outside the stall begins to giggle, and I’m just praying she hasn’t overheard our conversation or at least isn’t judging me for having my three-year-old son in the stall with me at “such a time as this.”
And just like that… a seemingly routine trip to the restroom turned into a horror flick.
When we came out of the stall, I shot to the sinks, making contact with no one, and got that kid out of there as fast as I could.
I am praying he is not traumatized. But I’m pretty sure he’s not, seeing as how he saw a picture of a train on the wall on the way out and, by the time he got to his daddy, had already forgotten that Mommy needed a band-aid.
As you can see from the picture above, we have been practicing using a quiet voice when in restrooms.
(I would LOVE for you guys to link up with your Keepin’ It Real moments. Sadly, my blog host doesn’t allow for the typical link up options, BUT you can blog about your brush with real life and leave the link in the comment section. I know I would love to read about it, as would others. It’s good to know that we’re all doing the best we can with this real life we’ve been given. We can be crazy blessed and still get hit in the face with real life moments. It happens to me every day. Share away!)