After story hour on Friday, we decided to go play in the Reading Garden. The Reading Garden is a tranquil stone seating area surrounded by evergreens and butterfly bushes, coneflowers, black-eyed Susans, and tall prairie grasses.
My friend and I settled in for a nice chat while our children picked up pine cones and played follow-the-leader. We admonished our offspring to stay within our view while I nursed the baby. Seated in an alcove of pine trees, we enjoyed the cool breeze and warm sun. We savored each other’s company as we discussed her daughter’s new ventures in preschool.
Eventually of course, our idyllic exchange was interrupted. Aviana was begging us to let them play follow-the-leader on the stepping stones, which were not within our line of sight from where we were seated. After much discussion about boundaries and what was and wasn’t acceptable, permission was granted.
After a few minutes, I rudely interrupted my friend.
“Oh my gosh!” I exclaimed.
“Aviana! She doesn’t have her pants on!” I had caught sight of her bare bum through the waving pampas grasses.
Suddenly, both my children came into view. Both with their pants down around their ankles. Both with their bare bummies out there for all to see.
Luckily, there aren’t any windows on that side of the library. And all the trees block the view of the parking lot.
“What in the world are you doing?!” I
shriek inquire incredulously.
“I had to go potty,” my four year old farm girl calmly explains, the fact we had just gone to the bathroom before coming outside not ten minutes before notwithstanding. “I need you to wipe me.”
“Did you poo?!!!” I squeal my voice rising a few octaves until I’m sure only the neighborhood dogs could hear me.
“Yeah,” the culprit nonchalantly admits.
Meanwhile, I’ve handed the infant, who is now turning bright red, screaming mightily in protest of his meal being interrupted, off to my friend, only to discover that Brielle, in imitation of her sister’s farmyard antics, has saturated the hood and top half of her outfit with pee. She had unzipped the one piece outfit, and pulled it and her bundies down to her ankles, but then peed right into it.
I strip her of the offending article, leaving her clad in a Pull-up and shoes and socks, pull up the preschooler’s pants, grab our diaper bag and march my hillbilly youngsters to the van.
The story of the little boy who dropped trou to go pee-pee in the cereal aisle that my friend told me during the clean up and gathering process did help me feel a little better.
If you ever happen to be walking around in the Reading Garden, watch where you step.