Charlyn’s Web

Patience is a virtue, so I am told. Motherhood will expand that virtue farther than you ever thought possible and in the strangest ways. One of my expanding (no puns intended) places is in public restrooms.

Public restrooms may seem an odd place to grow patience but they are a breeding ground for it. They are inherently disgusting, with the germs, lack of cleanliness and smells, to begin with; throw in my two heathens beautiful little girls and you have quite the breeding ground for the testing of Motherly Patience.

We usually use the handicapped stall because I insist that we all use the same one. Once, I let KJ go into a stall by herself and had to crawl under the door to get her out. Granted it was in an office building and fairly clean but the horror of that incident has left me with the heeby geebes. I anticipate that she will be 27 before I let her go in alone again. I herd them in and then listen to the argument about who is going first. It’s usually Miss Walnut Bladder, especially if she is doing the Pee-pee dance. She then stands in front of the toilet, waiting for me to pull her pants down. This is the child whose favorite thing to say is “Me Do It!” but for some reason when we are crammed in a stall, she can’t. Well, it is hard to get your pants down over those fast moving legs doing the complicated steps of her dance. Then it’s KJ’s turn. She always manages to drag her skirt (because she is almost always wearing a skirt) on the floor. While we wait for her, TG tries to look under the walls to see what is going on next door. By this time, my teeth are starting to grind together as she touches the floor which, according to people who study such things, is the dirtiest, most germ filled place in the restroom. If we are lucky enough to have company in the next stall, we get the loudly spoken questions about what she is doing. “Who is that? What is he doing? Oh! (giggle) Going pee!” I am loudly saying to never mind what that person is doing, it’s not polite to look under the wall and to please, get off the floor! I hope my stressed out voice is drowning out her comments. Then, lucky me, it’s my turn. By this time everyone else seems anxious to leave the confines of the stall and are actively trying to get the door open. “Don’t mess with the door….Don’t MESS with the DOOR!” I have a thing about exposing myself to the world. Then there is the trauma of flushing. It’s noisy and it’s been decided that it is unbearable. So I have to let them out before I flush so that they will be farther from the offending noise.

If, for some reason, we crowd into a “normal” sized stall it is much more thrilling. It’s almost like a clown car. Who are these “normal” sized people that can easily get into them? We crowd in and then have to orchestrate where everyone stands so we can get the door closed. Once one is done then we have to reshuffle. And getting out is an exercise in itself. They always seem to be in a hurry and not waiting to get everyone into a good position. One is getting squished behind the door while the other is getting stuck between the door and the toilet paper holder. I am pushed up against the toilet by the door, trying to help out.

Once we are free of the confines of the stall. Deep breath. We “get” to wash our hands. This is another test of patience as faucets get turned on and soap is reached for. Ever notice how high up the soap dispensers are? Of course not because you are an adult. They are always too high for kids but kids are the independent ones who insist on “doing it myself!” The things to push to get the soap out are also pretty stiff and hard for a kid to do one handed. I once had wet hands when I lifted TG up to get her soap and her shirt got wet. Now, I get to listen to her remind me EVERY TIME to not get her wet. She is such a nag. As I am telling KJ to not touch the faucet and leave the water running her little hand shoots out and pushes down the handle. I hand them towels- the hand blower is too noisy and we don’t like it- and say “don’t touch anything!” as I wash my hands. I look around to see TG playing with a stall door handle and KG touching the walls. We go to leave and before I can get there with a paper towel to open the door, their hands are all over the handle and the door itself. Why did I bother to wash their hands?

By this time, any patience I had in reserves is gone. I am stressed out. The only thing I have left to look forward to is getting to do it all over again in about an hour.