The kids were buggin’ in the house today, so hubby decided we should all get out and go to the beach. Like all normal families, we took about 30 hours to get ready– you know, pack food, towels, clothes, house. Boom, get-er-done, bam, in the car, shaboingboingboing, down the road and the littlest one goes, “mommmmmyyy, I gotta pee.”
“Wait ’til we get to the beach.” My husband and I say in unison, smiling at each other because we’re so darned in sync.
Then our 5-year-old princess starts. “Dadddddyyy, I have to go very badly too.”
“Yeah, we’re almost there.” He says, and looks at me with disappointment because I didn’t start a chorus with him.
All is quiet. We’re sitting at a traffic light and then the 7-year-old boy says, “mom, dad, I gotta use the bathroom.”
“Me too!” my 8-year-old honey-girl whimpers.
“Are you serious?” I’m scolding the small guy and little mama because those two are old enough to know that they should go before we leave the danged house. They ignore my tone and nod their heads slowly.
“We’re almost there.” I say, because we really, really are.
We pull into the park area, but you know how it is at the beach on a Sunday. That’s right. No parking. So we’re driving, and we’re driving and we’re driving and the kids are whimpering in the back.
“Ask God to make it so you won’t pee in your pants!” My 12-year-old son suggests to his siblings, and they all start praying out loud.
We circle and circle and just when I think they won’t make it, hubby finds a parking. Guy walking to his car with a towel ’round his waist and a smile on his face. (Hey, that rhymes!) Anyway, we get the stall and we’re outtie 5. (Just learned that phrase. Yeah, I’m groovy like that.) Only, there are no bathrooms where we parked. Kids are dancing frantically now, and we’re still trying to unpack the car.
Hubby and I look toward the ocean. “There’s the bathroom, kids. Get to it!” Hubby yells, and I ask our oldest to watch them good while they ‘pretend play’ in the water.
We unpack pretty quickly; wave off the buzzards who are trying to steal our parking and head toward the ocean only to see disturbed faces looking back at us. Four out of five kids are walking back looking relieved and the oldest is laughing his head off.
“What?” I ask, and give the stupid woman who is pointing at me the stink eye. (She probably couldn’t tell though, because it was super bright at the time and my eyes are Asian and everything.)
“Mom! That was so funny!” He’s guffawing so hard he can’t talk. I tell him to calm down, take a deep breath and start again. He does, and then he continues. “Sis got in the water and started splashing around like she was playing, and then she gets out and starts yelling at the two babies to stop playing and just hurry up and use the bathroom already! And brother was standing there, and he pulled his pants down and started peeing in the water!”
Being who I am, my first reaction was to laugh. Second was to scold the guilty, and third was to play stupid.
When we hit the water, I could see people who witnessed my husband’s weird children staring at us– I know I’d want to know who the heck’s kids they were too– and I started to feel a little embarrassed (and believe me, after having these kids it takes a lot for me to feel embarrassed) until I saw a girl, who was probably as old as my oldest son walk right into the water, pull her bikini bottom down and squat. It was obvious by her face that she was doing her business right there, next to the Japanese tourists and the kids who were jumping off their daddy’s surfboard.
The same people were staring at the pre-teen girl with the same grossed-out looks that they were giving me only seconds before, and I found myself searching for her parents– not out of hate, but because I took comfort in knowing that I’m not the only mom out there who is soooo going to bust out the butt pictures and the embarrassing stories at their weddings made to feel ashamed by their kids.
