New frontier

Last Saturday, Nonnie, the twins and I headed off to my cousin's church for her sons' baptism.  As the proud soon-to-be Godmother, I had to get to church early.

We were hanging out in the large foyer and right around the time it was for me to walk into the seperate room with the my Godchild's parents for our pre-flight instructions,  Logan starts dancing in front of me, "Mom I gotta go PEE - NOW!"  Okay - rush, rush, rush - where's the bathroom?

We follow directions.  Down that hall.  Turn left.  Turn right.  Third door.  I open the door while the boys, as always, are drilling me with questions:  Is this the MEN'S room or the ladies?  I dunwanna go in the ladiees?  It's the family kind, I tell them as I open the door to the large handicap accessible restroom.   I load everyone in,  Logan arrives to the potty first.  Austin a very close second.  Almost immediately Austin turns to the side and starts spitting.

WAIT!  What are we doing?  There's no SPITTING on the church bathroom floor!?!

Aside:  One of the things we are working on right now is pulling our pants ALL the way to the ground. 

"Working on" is code for "One to two thousand times a day, Mommy and Daddy are going to repeat a certain phrase."

Using words like "we" and "our pants" is a stupid arse way for parents to join their children's team - in an attempt to all be a part of the same "problem" and with it, the same "solution."   I'm proud to report that I have no problem pulling down my pants.  Neither does Gary.

   

However, my constant on-the-go boys DO have this problem.  They do not like to take the TIME to pull their pants ALL the way down to their ankles.  Instead, they take advantage of the ease at which God created boy parts to spew their contents.  You see, Austin and Logan don't drop their pants AT ALL.  They hook their thumb in and pull down the front of their pants, just enough for the turtle to poke his head out.   And in this case, on my Godson's baptism day, gravity takes over and what should be pointing south, well....doesn't.

"MOM - LOGAN just PEED in MY MOUTH!!!"

Caught somewhere between a dog's confused head tilt and a deer in the headlights look, I panic!  This was not mentioned is any ONE of my pre-adoption classes.  NOONE in my twin support group has brought up this situation.  I even performed a quick mental file inventory of ALL the blogs I read.  NOPE.  nothing!  I was on a new frontier.

Thank GOD my Mommy instincts had already kicked in.  Cuz when my brain turns back to the dire situation in the room, the contents of my purse have been emptied on the bathroom floor and I am frantically diving into it looking for a breath mint, a piece of gum, hand sanitizer, Swiss Army knife!  ANYTHING to help with the situation.

All the while, Austin continues spitting, gagging and HITTING his brother.  His brother is still peeing, but in between hits, he looses control of the grip he has on his not-pulled-down-at-all pants thus trapping the turtle in his current upward state and pee continues to spray the bathroom.  For the LOVE of GOD,  WOULD somebody PUT A CAP ON THAT TURTLE!

When the waterworks have finally stopped, I, by the grace of God have escaped any damage.  The front of Logan's pants are wet (surprise), but nothing a pulled out polo shirt can't hide.  Bless his heart, Austin's shirt is quite pee spotted and streaked.  Parts of his pants are too....and...

....he is still spitting.

I wipe the floors.  The walls.  And contemplate standing on the toilet in heels to wipe the ceiling.

I sanitize everyone and everything.  I double check our appearances,.  We certainly look more dishelved coming out than going in, but we are ready for departure.   We make our way back to the church foyer.   At the end of the long hallway, I see Daddy.

"DADDY!" Austin cries out with renewed anger, "Logan just [insert hand clamp on the face]!"

Gary: "Okay boys, let Mommy go meet up with Sam's family.  And lets spit out the gum.  No chewing gum in church."

"THE GUM..."  I stop myself, readjust and then start again slowly, this time a few decibels lower.

"...ahem, The Gum.  Gary.  STAYS."  I deliver the message with a stern "trust me on this one, I'll fill you in later on the details" look.

Dear Sam - I promise to always protect you and to make sure you know just how much God loves you.

I also promise to always take you to the bathroom by yourself!

Disclaimer: We do not really refer to any private part as "turtle," but that particular image fit the story and I wanted to ward off any nasty google searches from landing on my blog!  ;-)