"I need a man's potty."

So, we had to potty at the mall today. We often have to potty in public. I hate it when we have to use a public restroom, but it's been this way since I started potty training my oldest son (now 8). This has resulted in my knowing all the best restrooms in our area, and several on popular interstate routes.

I am no longer surprised when the conversation begins. "Mom, I've got to go to the restroom." "Honey, can it wait?" "No, I have to poop." This child has single handedly cured me of my public restroom phobia. Now I just chant to myself the whole time. "This won't kill us. People do this all the time and survive. I can do this." There are many memories of my children's early lives that have seemed to fade over time. That's code for my psyche intentionally blocking them from my mind so I can continue to move forward and love them with that irrational, all-consuming love that drives me to do what I do for them every day. Case and point, how many mothers do you know that recount their birthing stories with horror? Oh, no. They're all neatly coated in fuzzy happiness because all the pain and struggle gets lost in those beautiful, gunky, squished up faces.

These lovely public restroom situations would be among the blocked chunks of time for me. This is due to the fact that they mostly contain me reluctantly entering this dreaded place lugging my infant daughter in a carrier, my autistic son, Jackson, who was horrified by all the sights, sounds and smells, and this little guy whose bowels only seemed to move in public. I did my best to control Jackson's screaming while keeping my oldest from touching anything he did not absolutely have to touch all the while managing the carrier and diaper bag. I'm getting chills just thinking about it. Things are easier now. Jackson can handle it. My daughter is older and potty training, too. It is generally not a struggle anymore.

...What a glorious day it will be when ALL of my children are out of diapers and pull-ups and asking to go potty in the most inconvenient places....

This time, I made them go into the family restroom so they could all go together and I could be with them. I know it's a little paranoid, but germs and crazy people are everywhere, Y'all. Besides, the men's room was all the way down a hall and opposite the lady's room. There's no way I'm sending my two boys in there without me. This was super embarrassing for my 8 year old who thinks he's big enough to do everything on his own. Upon opening the door we saw a changing table, one small potty, one large potty, one small sink and one large sink. My 3 year old daughter, who can find excitement in the drying of paint, details what she sees out loud with great delight. Jackson goes straight for the little potty, and has his pants down before I can shut the door. Realizing it was too small for him. he then exclaims loud enough for the whole mall to hear (the door is still open, darn hydraulic hinges), "I need a man's potty," and moves to the larger toilet beside him. Meanwhile, I get the door shut and locked and my daughter decides to go all by herself. Her hands are all over the tiny little commode. I see the concentration face and begin to panic. "Not here." I keep repeating to myself. "This won't kill us. I CAN do this. I'll just make sure she washes her hands really good." My 8 year old suddenly decides he doesn't have to poop after all. Besides, it is super embarrassing to go INTO the bathroom with your mom and little sister. Bored with the whole thing, he decides to put his brother in a head lock while he's washing his hands. Water and screaming all around. They are now tussling and I start panicking that they might end up on the floor.

What happens if mom has a public meltdown due to sensory overload? Hopefully, I'll never know. Someone tries to open the door. I'm trying to break up the fight. My daughter shouts, "coming!" And tries to open the door with her pants still down (the concentration face was a false alarm, thank goodness). I start scrambling to figure out how I would explain the scene to a local DFACS officer, while having flashbacks of earlier times. I begin to remember why I rarely left the house for a huge chunk of Jackson's early years.

Mustering up my quick-as-lightening mom reflexes, I stopped my daughter from opening the door, broke up the fight, and got us out of there mostly dry and clean. Emerging victorious and feeling like super mom, we then move on to the carousel as if everything about what just occurred in that tiny little room was completely normal.

I then laugh to myself when the thought of blogging this came to my mind. This desire, to not only record this memory before my brain can force it into the section of my brain I never use but to share it with the world, is quite strange, maybe even insane. But, the best part, the pies de resistance, came later.

We have a bedtime tradition of asking the kids to share their favorite part of the day. I think it started as an attempt to cause them to think about something they could be thankful for every day, but it has morphed into a one-up tournament, most nights anyway. Tonight, though, when I asked my daughter what her favorite part of the day was, she exclaimed with great delight, "going to the bathroom at the mall."

So, on those days when you feel like they should post a sign outside your house that says looney bin, maybe you can think of this post and remember, normal is just a setting on the dryer.