“We never, NEVER go potty in the cup holder of the car seat!”
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(And for those of you trying to imagine Gbot dropping his pants in the backseat on I-10, I’ve transcribed a play-by-play account of what actually occurred:
1. Husbot brings a car seat from truck into the house. Its final destination: the Bot-mobile. Husbot exits.
2. The bots and I make a special-day chocolate pudding & marshmallow pie. I had no idea what a special day it would be. The bots crush the graham crackers for the crust with spoons in a large plastic bag. “Are we done yet?” “No.” “Now are we done?” “No.” “Hey,” notes Mbot. “This looks like diarrhea.” The pie goes in the fridge to cool.
3. The bots and I go to the pool to cool. We splash, we swim, we pretend we are all Batgirls. “No I’m Batgirl and you’re Batboy,” says Gbot. “But I’m already Batgirl,” says Mbot. “I know! We can be sisters.”
4. Retransformed into bots, we go back inside. I instruct bots to remove sandals and swim trunks at the door. Not so easy: there are ties to be untied and many distractions. Like the car seat on the floor.
5. I drop my wet suit, throw on dry clothes, and rush to the kitchen to whip the cream for the top of the pie while issuing instructions to go potty before we go to Grandma’s.
6. I tell Mbot eight times to put on his underpants. Gbot is singing a song about Mr. Rabbit whose ears are mighty white.
7. I tell Mbot to put on his underpants again and rush across the room to rescue the pie from crashing to the kitchen floor under his adventurous fingers. I issue only one of apparently two necessary orders: “Do not touch the pie.”
8. I try to get Gbot into a diaper instead of underpants, just in case. He is babbling something about pottying in the cup holder. The statement lodges loosely in my mind on top of the information about Mr. Rabbit’s white ears.
9. I pull Gbot’s shorts and t-shirt on. I make the executive decision: no shoes. We are in a hurry, and who needs the extra work?
10. I help Mbot into his underpants. I pop a shirt over his head. He sits down on his shorts. I pull them out from under him and hold them out. He puts them on.
11. I rush back to get the pie. I open the door. I sling my bag over my shoulder, pick up the pie, usher bots out the door, quickly now, because we don’t want the 98 degree heat to rush in, and pick up the car seat by the top of its two shoulder straps. I take two lurching steps over the threshold. My leg and foot are doused in lukewarm liquid.
12. Gbot’s statement about pottying in the cupholder is flushed to the fore. I drop the seat. I make sure the bots aren’t running into the parking lot. I return inside to put the pie down in an ant- and bot-free zone. I approach the car seat.
13. Gbot, good for his word, has filled the cupholder half full.
That’s when I said those words I never thought I’d say, and go stick my foot in the sink.
The rest is denouement. Although I wiped it down with rubbing alcohol, I made Gbot sit in the pottyish car seat. He said he liked sitting in the pottyish car seat.
I wanted to remove pie-eating privileges, but what good would that have done? Pie and potty. Potty and pie. If you sing it to the tune of “Max and Ruby,” the morning after, it’s actually kind of catchy.
But I’m left cringing, wondering about the next thing I’ll say that I’d never thought I’d say.