Tuesday, May 26, 2009

In This Day and Age

It was like any other little league baseball game. As I sat and watched my stepson rotate from one position to another on the field at the change of each inning, my own son was bumming money off of me and making multiple trips back and forth to the snack bar. First it was nachos, then it was a soda to wash the nachos down, and then it was some popcorn, because he just had to have some. When he came back for the fourth time, I was ready with my stern, motherly “NO!” But instead of asking for more money, he announced those seven little dreaded words, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

What’s wrong with having to go to the bathroom you ask? Nothing really—except when it’s number two and the only bathroom around is a single Port-O-Potty, after 20+ teams of little leaguers and their families have come and gone before ourselves that same day.

Laptop computers. Mobile phones. TVs as thin as a book. Music players the size of a pack of gum. With all of the leaps and bounds we have made in these areas, why can’t someone make a better version of the Port-O-Potty?

Let’s face it. The name Port-O-Potty should really be changed to “Tub-O-Turds” or “Add-A-Poo.” I mean, is it really that hard to make one that can flush? If they can make a wireless phone that allows you to sit on your toilet at home and send a text message to someone else sitting on the toilet in a completely different state, then why not a Port-O-Potty that can send the poo into a different compartment a few feet away where we don’t have to see it or smell it?

I don’t know what is worse in those things, the murky pile of sludge sitting down in that black hole or the stench it produces. But it seems that no matter how disgusting we know it is, there’s always that sick part of us that can’t help but to take a quick peek. That is probably the reason they make those things with very little light. You don’t want a good view of what’s down there. It’s like that mountain that guy keeps building in the movie Close Encounters of The Third Kind. I mean, I’m certain there is someone in this world who has taken a dump in one of those things and the turd only had to drop an inch and fold in half to make the top of the pile.

As for the stench, if I can smell what’s in there before I open the door, I’m not going in. I would much rather climb into a cardboard box and crap into a bucket in the middle of the parking lot at Wal-Mart on a Saturday afternoon.

It’s not like they need underground plumbing for a Port-O-Potty to flush. Take an airplane for example. There’s no underground plumbing on those things. Hell, they’re flying miles above the earth. But you can still flush the toilet and the poo goes somewhere else—even if it is through someone’s roof in the form of a block of ice. That’s a lot better than where in goes in a Port-O-Potty!

And it’s not like someone hasn’t given some thought to improving the Port-O-Potty over the years. Some do have antibacterial soap dispensers in them now. But is that really an improvement or a sick joke? What we actually need is a HazMat unit waiting outside the door to decontaminate us and burn our shoes.

There are also the built-in urinals. Can you see me shaking my head? Like the guys really care what they pee in. Heck, they probably enjoy aiming at the mountain of poo. They are, after all, the ones who think it's funny to go around and say, "Hey, pull my finger!"

But, of course, I must give the Port-O-Potty its educational credit where educational credit is due. I mean, who here has not learned that you can hold your breath a lot longer than you ever thought you could, and that you can pee at the speed of light when you really need to?

As for my son’s bathroom dilemma, I walked him over towards the Port-O-Potty, much like I was walking him to his execution. When we got about 10 feet from the door and I began to smell the fecal stew waiting inside for him, I steered him in the direction of the car and said, “Come on…I’ll drive you to Wal-Mart.”

Monday, May 11, 2009

Taking A Moment

Between the sleepless nights, poopie diapers, screaming and crying (both kids and moms alike), and never-ending laundry, it’s easy to see why we sometimes wonder to ourselves, “What in the hell was I thinking?!” Motherhood can indeed feel like a thankless job a majority of the time, with nothing more than stretch marks, flabby bellies and saggy boobs as our badges of honor.

But then there are those moments—the ones when your fussy baby quiets in the security of your soothing arms, your two-year-old runs to you with joy after you’ve been gone for a few hours, and your little one hugs you tight and says, “I wuv you, Mommy.” Often times those moments last only for a few brief seconds, but no matter how long or how short, they are precious moments that can leave a lasting impression in our hearts and are often times the only thanks we need.

Two of my moments came this Mother’s Day. They came in the form of a poem from my son and a simple card with a handwritten note from my daughter. And this is what they said:

From my son (10 years old):

Mother

I am your boobers.
I wonder if you’re thinking about me when I am at not with you.
I see you kissing me goodnight.
I am your boobers.

I pretend that when you are gone, you are still beside me.
I feel very loved when you are there.
I touch your heart when I say, “I love you, Mom.”
I worry when I am not there you might get hurt.
I cry when I disappoint you or hurt your feelings.
I am your boobers.

I am your boobers.
I say I love you and I really mean it.
I dream that I will take care of you forever.
I try to make you happy when you are sad.
I hope you live forever and ever.
I am your boobers.

A card and note from my daughter (13 years old):

The card said:

I know I can always count on you, Mother
When I need advice, you listen and understand
and you’re always there for me when I need your encouragement.
The closeness we share is something I value every day of my life
And I love you for being my friend, as well as my mother

Her note said:

There is no other way I would have put that. It was the perfect card for how I care about you. You are my friend, teacher, hand to hold when life gets tough, but most of all, you’re my mom and I love you. I always will, no matter how much of a stupid teenager I turn into, I would like you to know that. I would have you no other way and you have taught me that love is strong and so is trust. Thank you for giving me both and more. I love you and there aren’t enough words for me to tell you that. Happy Mom’s day. You are truly the best mom anyone gets.

So for all you moms out there who might sometimes wonder if the hospital takes returns, keep on doing what you've been doing, and that's being the best mom you can be. Your moments will come--sometimes it’s just a matter of taking a moment to notice.

Happy Mother's Day!