Drizzle Castles

Soooo today...

Today was supposed to be a very special day. Today I planned to surprise my niece Mary with a special trip to Arni's to have a lunch date with her mom. Michelle teaches at Vinton and her lunch break is right about the time we finish Bible Study. So Jonathan, Mary and I joined her for lunch.
The actual lunch was delightful, before the kids finished Michelle had to leave and Mary had to go to the bathroom, and Jonathan... had pooped. So we left our lunch, walked Michelle to the door and headed to the bathroom.
As we neared the bathroom door, I noticed that my arm was a little wet.
"Oh great! I thought, Jonathan's diaper leaked through his pants."
Then I walked in the bathroom and set Jonathan down...
That's when I saw it...
You know when you're at the beach and you mix sand and water to get just the right consistency and make those drizzle castles.
You could make drizzle castle's with my son's poop (what a proud moment for a mom). Poop was literally dripping down my shirt, my pants and all over Jonathan. It dripped on the floor... it dripped on my shoe. It dripped everywhere.
So I did what every concerned loving mother would do. Dropped my son like a lead brick and focused my full attention on getting the poop off of me!! So Jonathan was running around the bathroom making poop castles and I was ripping of my outer shirt (thank God I had two shirts on and scrubbing my jeans.
I grabbed Jonathan and put him on the changing table. And began to carefully remove the offended clothes. I have never been so thankful for a button up shirt.  As my anxiety and blood pressure rose I began to assess what form of clothing I was going to redress my naked son with.  I glanced at the diaper bag, two plastic bibs and a motorcycle vest. Not looking good.
As I tried to scrub the poop off of Jonathan with baby wipes, Mary came out of the bathroom stall and announced, "Megan! He has poop all over his back!"
Thank you, dear.
"Megan, can we get dessert?" (yeah, how 'bout a brownie?) 
"No, Mary not today.'
"Megan, then can we get a gumball?" (Are you serious? Do you see that I am up to my elbows in crap? Do you seriously I am going to scrounge around my purse with poop hands for a quarter to buy a gumball?!?!)
"No, Mary, we are going to go back, pay for our food, and go home. I have gum at home."
"Can we take our drinks home?"
"Yes Mary, you can take your drink."
I then put Mary to work making piles of paper towels (one at a time as the automatic dispenser only lets out a 4x4 inch square at a time) and wetting them with warm water to scrub off the poop.
I finally removed an acceptable amount of poop, I reached for a diaper...
nothing.
I did a double take.
(Insert expression about something hitting the fan here)
Still nothing.
Panic.
What!! There were three in there when I left the house this morning! WHAT!!
Frantic searching through the diaper bag, knowing that if they weren't where they were supposed to be they weren't anywhere.
More Panic.
Crap! Crap! Crap! I still have to pay for lunch. Crap I still have to get Everette's salad I ordered. Crap! Crap!
 Cursing my mother for bailing on lunch for the first Thursday since September(there is always someone else to blame).
Cursing myself.
Just cursing (but only in my head because little ears are listening).

Ok.. now what.
Feeling like McGuyver I assessed the situation.
I still had two plastic bibs, diaper disposal bags, and a pot holder waiting to be returned to a friend of mine.
will someone call CPS  if my kid comes out of the bathroom naked with a plastic bag tied around his butt?
Wait... 
**heavens open, halleluia chorus**
In the very bottom of the diaper bag I found a tattered, crumpled swim diaper. Sweet Victory. Praise Jesus!

 I strap on the swimmie, grab the bags and Mary and head quickly back to my seat, where I clothe my child in a blue motorcycle vest (thankfully it was the same blue as the Nemo swim diaper so he was at least fashionable).  So we sit and wait for our waitress (or any waitress) to return.  Jonathan, oblivious to my current psychological and emotional trauma, picks up his hot dog and continues to chow down. When she comes, I throw the credit card at her and beg her to let us leave.
While I wait for her I think, what if he pees? If he pees it will leak all over me? Swim diapers don't absorb pee... I should have put the potholder in there. Dang it!  Oh please don't let him pee. Please no pee. I want my mommy!.


Then I think...
Megan, you are covered in shit. How could anything possibly be worse? Do you really think pee would be worse than the crap already on your pants? Pee would have been a blessing compared to this.


Thankfully the waitress returned, I signed the check and ran out of there. Rolled down the windows to diffuse the powerful poop smell.
Upon arrival I dropped my son in his room, stripped my clothes in the laundry room, changed Jonathan into a new diaper and sweats, put him to sleep, then rocked back and forth in the fetal position in a scalding hot shower.
Then read a book to my niece.

And for an ironic twist... when I recounted my trauma to my sister-in-law, Michelle. She said, "did you see Mary (my mother-in-law)?"
"uhh no, was she there?"
"well I assume so, I saw her pull in as I was leaving."

Turns out my mother-in-law was having a working lunch in the restaurant, during my trauma.
Of all the times for her NOT to have to use the bathroom!
I wonder if she saw the poop castles in the bathroom?