oops

One of the most impossible tasks to complete with a toddler is USING THE RESTROOM! I’m not even talking about public bathrooms. I’m talking about trying to pee in my own freaking house. When Mommy needs to take a tinkle, she has two options.

1. Haul the kid in with her.
2. Lock the kid out.

Each of these options come with their own sets of pros and cons. Let’s examine the cons.

I know that if Munchie comes in the bathroom with me, he will constantly be trying to rummage through chemicals under the sink (Daddy Bish, we really need to child lock those cabinets… humans that are freaking out… he can’t open the bathroom door, so he is fairly safe), attempting to grab the toilet brush (so he can swing it through the air), or ripping toilet paper to shreds (you try to keep a toddler away from the toilet paper).

Should I choose to lock Munchie out, we open up a completely different can of worms. The only time I know I can leave him alone without all hell breaking loose is when Yo Gabba Gabba is on. The rest of the time, I’m taking a gamble… which results in some form of chaos and disaster about 47% of the time.

Sometimes, locking myself in the bathroom makes me feel famous. My biggest fan(s… if more than one child is here) stand outside the door pounding their fists, screaming, crying, and shouting my name. This must be what (insert current pop icon here) feels like when they go out in public (no wonder being famous is so hard). What all of you non-parents need to understand is that as absolutely annoying as this can be… I can be certain no other debauchery is taking place… so, despite the noise, a calm washes over me.

This morning, there was no screaming. In fact… I didn’t hear anything, which is even more dangerous (because I know he saw me go in there). As I sat down, I heard rustling. Oh crap. My purse. I got home late from a meeting and completely forgot to baby-proof my purse. Next, I hear some crinkling. My head drops, because I know he just found my stash of (heavenly… like best snack ever… that I drive an hour to buy from Trader Joes… oh gosh, we really need a Trader Joes in Frederick) rice crackers with a hint of soy sauce (try them and you will understand why my heart sank… they are incredible).

The pitter patter of tiny feet flying across the hardwood floor comes next… followed by an excited squeal, as Munchie starts shaking the bag of delicious face treats. He is so fast… I’m wiping (TMI? It’s not like you don’t do it… unless you are some kind of nasty) as fast as I can… and then I hear it. The tip tap of tiny crackers bouncing off the floor… first just a few… and then like a (mouth-watering) waterfall.

I hear nothing but shrieks of pleasure from Munchie, so proud of himself for creating such a delicious spectacle. I squirt some hand sanitizer on my palm (no time for soap and water) and fling the door open. As I round the corner, the dog dashes to the other side of the house. Munchie drops the bag, spins around, and stands as still as a statue.

“Uh oh,” he exclaims.

Uh oh is right, sir… but that’s what we say when there was an accident… and I assure you… this was no accident. As I head for the broom, he decides to plop himself down and furiously wave his hands across the floor. Crackers fly everywhere, like tiny hockey pucks. He jumps up and starts stomping on the crackers (I will admit, they make a pretty awesome crunching sound). I pick him up, dust him off, and move him out of the way.

Trickery helped me clean up the mess… but goodness gracious… I have to wonder if getting slapped in the face with a toilet brush while trying to wrestle it away from my kid would be a better option next time.

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