When Delightfully Abnormal Goes Awry.

I don’t know how you Moms with regular kids do it.

And I don’t know how I’m going to do it, since I am certain that I will most definitely be awarded with my second kid being quite regular. Or perhaps even extra-regular.

With regards to the frequency of pee.

My kid is a camel, or at least that’s the diagnosis that her Pediatrician gives her when I worriedly ask her at every visit if she’s absolutely CERTAIN that Ali is normal.


She pees three times a day.

And if I don’t make her go, she’ll wait until after lunch to make her first trip. And it’s always been that way – since the day she was potty-trained.

Which is what brings us to Monday, also known hereafter as The Great Anomaly.

Apparently she really enjoyed her milk at breakfast. And although I forgot to make her pee when she woke up, I distinctly remember her peeing around 10 am.

It had been a rough day of re-entry into normal life for all of us – the kids had The Grandparent Effect, and I had The Alone-With-Daddy-In-New-York-For-Four-Days Effect, and was also fighting my blog and my host to attempt to de-crash it for the dozenth time. Ali requested a trip to the mall to eat lunch. I hadn’t made it to the grocery store to restock, and I desperately needed out of the house and away from this computer, so I agreed.

I forgot to take the stroller in, so I was wrangling Noah to actually sit in his chair and eat. We were about halfway through our lunch when Ali’s head jerked up, her legs crossed violently, and she started hopping up and down and saying, “I need to tee-tee!! I need to tee-tee!!”

She can also usually hold it for hours, so I said, “Can it wait?”

I saw the level of yellow rise in her eyeballs.

“No! I need to tee-tee now!!”

She stood up and began The Pee Dance.

(All Mommies know that The Pee Dance is an ominous 30 second countdown to disaster.)

I breathed a long, internal sigh, then reminded myself that other Mommies do this every time they leave the house. I can manage it once.

I looked up. The Pee Dance tempo had kicked up a few beats.

I frantically gathered our chicken, fries, sauces, and garbage. I stuck the uneaten food in the bag, then confusedly tried to figure out what to do with the trash, since I’d just used my usual trash bag.

So I shoved 4 cubic meters of trash into a Chicken Nuggets box.

As I was hurriedly cleaning off our table, Noah found this to be a perfect opportunity to stand up in the unstable mall chair and begin his own interpretation of Ali’s dance – unbeknownst to me, since I was otherwise occupied trying to prevent a natural disaster.

The Old Lady with the chartreusy-orange hair and white roots that was sitting behind us began yelling.

“Be careful!! BE CAREFUL!! Sit down…. CAN YOU PLEASE SIT DOWN??”

At that point I turned my head to find out who Chartreusy-Orange-Haired Lady was yelling at – oh, my son of course.

I sat him down in his chair, and sprinted to the trash can, leaving him there alone with his whimpering sister, which I’m sure caused an Orange-Haired Coronary. As I came back to our table, Ali looked more panicked than ever. Her skin was turning a pale yellow…and that was no jaundice.

I folded up our food bag and helped Noah out of his chair.

Then she said it.

“I can wait now.”


“The feeling is gone. I’m good. Can I eat my food before we go to the bathroom?”

“No!! I’ve already packed it all up because you said it couldn’t wait. We’re GOING to the bathroom.”

“But I don’t need to anymore!”

I grabbed a kid’s hand in each of mine and balanced the food bag in my elbow and we marched to the family restroom. I set the food bag down on the diaper changing table (where I’m positive it collected many fabulous baby butt pathogens) and I focused my attention on keeping Noah from licking the tasty bacterium from every surface.

And Ali was surprised by the fact they Hey! She actually did still have to tee-tee!


She washed and dried, and I went to unlock the gargantuan door.


I tried to turn the lock again.


The lock was completely stuck.

The voice in my head began screaming.


(At least it’s foamy hand soap. Liquid soap skeeves me out.)

I let go of Noah’s hand for just a moment, and as I saw him take off for the toilet, I began to riotously shake the door handle. I gripped and groaned and turned the lock with all of my might, and it finally slipped out of place, freeing us to the outside world.

I nearly kissed the hallway floor. But I didn’t.

And then we left, uneaten food in hand. Because me and the mall – we were done.

On the bright side, I saw Chris having a nice pre-dinner snack several hours later. I never did tell him about that chicken’s journey.

Might I say it again: I don’t know how you Moms with regular kids do it. And if my second child is a regular kid, we’re never leaving the house again.