Today I heard a song on the radio that sent me back to slow dancing with a cute boy at the 7th/8th grade dance. Everything from the smell of the freshly-waxed gym floor to the well-planned outfit I was wearing (cream jeans and a navy/garnet rugby shirt...circa 1993). So can someone please explain to me why I can remember random, useless information like this, but yet I can't seem to remember things like packing underwear for my children when we go on a road trip?! Apparently pregnancy brain does not go away upon delivery.
Let me catch you up to speed since it's been four months since we last chatted (because I forgot to publish a post a few months ago about Preschool..but I uploaded that today). We've built a house and finally moved in, Laiten is potty trained while Maisen refuses, and I'm still running around this town like a chicken with it's head cut off. There have been millions of funny things that have happened in the folds of all of this goodness, and shame on me for getting away from documenting it here so that y'all can laugh with me (with me, not at me...right?!) However, this last road trip I made to Atlanta gave me so much material, I knew I needed to make time to share the madness that is parenting twin toddlers.
This road trip was the first I've made alone during the day (because only crazy people drive with toddlers during the day) with the girls since Laiten's been potty trained. I knew this was going to create some melee, since she'd need to stop fairly often to potty and daddy wasn't along to help. But there was no way I could stop every hour, drag two children out of their car seats and into some El Cheapo (a real place...see below) to utilize their public restroom without one of us contracting a disease of some sort. So, I got creative and put her Baby Bjorn potty down in the floorboard on the passenger side. Perfecto! Maybe this wouldn't be so bad (said the devil himself).
Things were going great until about 1.5 hours into the drive. Those of you who've driven from Savannah to Atlanta are all too familiar with the barren drive of Interstate 16. There are only a few places to stop until you get to I-75, and really only one place you can stop with piece of mind. Laiten had to potty at the 30 minute and one hour mark, so from there I figured she was going to fall asleep and we'd be cruising all the way to Atlanta without any more stops. Just as her eyes got heavy and I started to crank up Zac Brown, I heard a sleepy little whispery voice say, "Mommy??" As any good parent with an almost napping child does, I acted like I didn't hear her. (New or almost parents - this is a lesson for you. Don't engage, don't make eye-contact and certainly don't ever make sleepy-talk with a child who's drifting off to Neverland. Mistake of a lifetime.) And then came, "Mommy - I have to poooooop!"
Enter stage right: a mother's panic in the middle of nowhere Georgia.
Maisen was sleeping, so I knew I needed to try to keep the peace as I started to weigh my options. I asked Laiten a million times to confirm the fact that, yes, indeed, she had to go. By this point, she was speed-chanting, "Oh mommy, hurry up! I don't want to poop in my big girl panties!" Just typing that brings me to a cold sweat. I'm now going about 85 miles per hour down the interstate praying for a freaking exit sign. I can see blue in the distance, so I know I'm getting close. As I approach, I can only see one square on the exit sign, which means our options are limited to...(squinting, trying to make out what the sign says with my three-month old contacts) EL CHEAPO GAS STATION. Fabulous.
I pull into the ol' El Cheapo and act like I'm topping off my tank. I grab Laiten and just about throw her into the passenger side floor board, and give her a high-five for not having an accident...and give myself a mental fiver for being a freaking amazing mom. Potty in the car...whoop!! I do a little survey of my shared company at the Cheapo, and allies are at a minimum. Truckers, college kids and random vagrants. At this rate, I don't really care. I'm just glad we avoided a blitzkrieg in the car. Laiten finishes her business, I get her back in the car seat...and then, I realize I have to do something with the aftermath. I shuffle around the car to look for a plastic bag to package it up, and realize I have NOTHING. No diaper bags, no Publix bags, not even a random Ziploc baggie, which on any other day, 45 of them would be scattered throughout my back seat. My only option at this rate was to take a handful of wipes and well...freelance it right into the gas station garbage can. I'll save you the graphic details since I've already used the P word several times against my better judgement, but know that it wasn't pretty and I sped away, leaving rubber on the road at the El Cheapo. I'm guessing I'm not welcome back.
I really thought I was well-prepared for this trip, but forgetting the plastic bags for the dooty was only my first mishap. I also forgot to pack any big girl panties for Laiten (although she was excited to buy new fairies ones in Atlanta), forgot to put her panties on for church that Sunday (commando with the Lord...somewhere my Grandma is having heart palpitations) and forgot plastic bags yet again for the trip home (where I had to replay the El Cheapo situation but at an abandoned Walmart parking lot in Jonesboro this time). Apparently getting Laiten completely potty trained has caused me to lose my mind, memory and sanity. I'm not bald or gray yet, though...good news. Maybe Maisen will stay in Pull Ups forever. I'm starting to like that idea.
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