Of Bathrooms and Little Boys

Well, here I am again, after quite an absence. And, no, I’m not talking about a blog absence but an absence from visiting public bathrooms with a little bathroom buddy. Has it really been four years? Wow. Anyway, it seems that my youngest has rapidly and nearly painlessly (finally, thank you) become potty trained. Which means that I’m now getting the fun of taking him to public bathrooms all over the place. Part of me is thrilled that we’re in the bathroom because he actually wants to use it, but then I remember that I have a little boy in tow and realize that, to him, bathrooms=fun.

Of all of my adventures with little boys in public bathrooms this has to be the absolute craziest.

Here’s what happened.

At church on Sunday, I decided to ditch the last stanza of the last hymn so that I could get my little boy to the bathroom before what I was sure was an impending accident. I took him with me to the ladies’ room. After he was finished using the bathroom I instructed him to go wash his hands.

He did wash his hands…but that is not all. Just washing his hands and leaving would have been normal and, of course, we don’t do normal. Out-of-left-field is our specialty.

Guess what he did next INSTEAD of leaving? He picked up the rubber door stop and, I suppose, after deciding that it looked like an excellent projectile, lobbed it over the stall door into a toilet that someone was actually sitting on.

I mean, what are the odds. Not only did he get it in there, it went in without so much as a splash. If it were a dive in the Olympics it would have gotten 10s all around.

So, you know, thank goodness the person wasn’t hurt. Thank goodness that she has a sense of humor. And, thank goodness that the person was me instead of some innocent bystander. If it had not been me, I think I would have actually died from embarrassment, finally.