Let me set the scene: It’s a typical afternoon in the school pickup line. We’re parked, bumper to bumper, about ten minutes before dismissal. Cars are stacked behind us, no room to maneuver. In the back seat, my five-year-old, Oliver, is blissfully absorbed in a game on his tablet.
Oliver: “I need to poop.”
Me: “You’re gonna have to hold it until we get home.”
A) Noah’s school is locked tight, and there’s no way I have time to get in, get out, and return before the line starts moving.
B) Oliver has been fully potty trained for over a year. He knows the drill.
Oliver: “No. Honk your horn. It’s coming now.”
And that’s when my soul leaves my body. His tone is deadly serious. This is not a drill.
Frantically, I check the glove compartment. No napkins. I dig through my purse. Nothing. Maybe if I unbuckle him and let him stand, it’ll somehow delay the inevitable? Nope. It’s go time.
Oliver: “I’m sweating. My butthole hurts.”
This. This is the moment they don’t put in parenting books. The moment no baby shower advice could have prepared me for.
I leap out of the car and pop the trunk, praying for a miracle. And there it is—a garbage bag full of old toys I was planning to donate.
Without hesitation, I dump the entire bag onto the pavement. Elmo, dinosaurs, Hot Wheels—sacrificed in the name of survival. I slam the trunk shut, dive back into the driver’s seat, and open the empty bag like a desperate magician pulling off a terrible trick.
Me: “Poop into the bag.”
Oliver is already halfway there, pants and underwear around his ankles.
Oliver: (grunting, straining) “SUPERMAN MUSCLES!”
A hefty plop lands in the bag.
Me: (silently tying a literal bag of crap like a serial killer covering evidence)
Oliver, unfazed, pulls up his pants, picks up his tablet, and resumes his game like nothing happened.
Oliver: “My butt itches. I need a wipe when we get home.”
I am sitting there, drenched in panic sweat, when the dismissal bell rings and the car line starts moving.
One minute later, Noah hops in the car. He wrinkles his nose. “What is that awful smell?”
Oh, do I have a story for you.