Last week we had Punkin’s open house at school: see the classroom meet her third grade teacher, etc.
Side note: How is she in third grade already? I’m terrified. Because that means next year she’ll be in fourth grade. And they have health class where they talk about hormones and puberty. Which means two horrific things: I’ll have to have the puberty talk with Punkin. And I’ll have to have that talk, because it’s a matter of time before she’s into it full swing. Excuse me while I cry.
I digress. We ate a quick dinner, I got the girls to look more like little girls and less like feral children, handed Smush off to the Nerd so I could do my make-up, and we headed off to school.
Upon arriving, we unloaded the van and started walking down the road, because we had to park 14 miles away since the parking lot was full. Halfway there, Smush asked me to pick her up. She’s all about independence and not snuggling me right now, so I happily obliged.
It was at this point that I noticed how skinny and smooth her tiny heiny was. Not at all like the padded crumpled wad of tush I normally feel through the diaper. Which could mean only one thing:
Smush wasn’t wearing a diaper. At all. In fact, she was in a dress, going commando.
Me: Nerd, you didn’t put a diaper on her?!?
Nerd: I thought you did! Go check the car.
Me: Okay, but you cleaned out the car and took my emergency diaper stash. Cross your fingers.
I checked. There was nothing. No diapers, no napkins, no tissues, nothing. Crap. Actually, no, don’t crap. Please don’t crap.
Run back to catch up to the Nerd and girls and inform him that our 2-year-old that won’t pee on the potty is going commando. And I hope and pray that please, sweet Jesus, she doesn’t pop a squat and pee in the hallway of the school before I can make it to the bathroom.
Not to brag, but I’m kind of like MacGyver in these situations, so by the time we hit the front doors, I have a plan. I’ll take a huge line of paper towels and wrap them front to back around Smush’s tush. Then I’ll use another huge line to wrap around her waist and hold up her ghetto-rigged pee catcher.
The Nerd and I each grab one of Smush’s hands to keep her from wandering off to
pee in the car pool lane explore. Except when we do this, she thinks it’s a signal to swing her legs up really freakin high and show everyone her naked baby bits. Scrap that. Nerd, carry her. I’m wearing my good sweater. There will no be no peeing on my good sweater.
Enter bathroom. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY, WHERE ARE THE PAPER TOWELS? Oh, they only have small, individual ones and industrial strength hand dryers. Super. WHAT THE CRAP AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS?
I send for Goo. I then ask Goo to strip from the waist down, take her undies, stuff them full of a wad of toilet paper that sort of resembles an eagle’s nest, and put them on Smush. Who now walks like a penguin and keeps talking about how her heiny feels weird.
The good news is, we made it through open house without christening Punkin’s new classroom.
And just to round out my epic fail, I give you a little balance: Punkin’s teacher said she’s got the highest test scores she’s ever seen. She’s in advanced math and reading, and the teacher said her priority is to keep coming up with material to challenge her because she’s so dang smart.
Mediocre parenting: raising a genius, forgetting to fully clothe your other child. It’s all about balance.