Today, I had a wonderful morning going about town with the toddler. We walked Locust and Hubbard streets. She helped me shop in the dollar store, selected some yarn, petted the stuffed dogs in the book store, and selected a balloon treat from the events store. We went down to the lake front, and strolled the boardwalk under the spring sun. We met some new and old friends.
I'm excessively lucky (insert article title) that she is a good helper. She says please and thank you. She knows to buy things (not just walk out of the store with them) and she is polite enough to avoid unwarranted contact with strangers, though she did panic an over friendly woman and accidentally bear hug the wrong pair of khaki legs. The expression on the mans face was priceless. Its not every day a strange child tries to hide their head in your....
Aside from the occasional (honest) mistake, there is a rhythm to our shopping. We don't stay in one place too long. We always discuss what store we are going into. We know that some places you can touch with your hands, and some places you just look with your eyes(insert post title). In fact, I have only one complaint. She is a bathroom addict.
It wouldn't be bad, except she doesn't actually use the potty in the bathrooms. She has just learned that the word "potty" gets her admitted to a new little room, with a newly shaped toilet in it. Today we used the potty (unsuccessfully) in Minnies, in the coffee shop, and in the dollar store. We almost used it in Pamida, but Mom was so sick of restrooms, she refused.
There is some magic rule about refusing to take your child to the restroom. It doesn't matter whether they are wearing training pants of a new dry diaper. In my case, and unknown to me, Cora was "going commando." Between thirty two billion (or four) previous potty trips, the velcro on the diaper tabs loosened. Long walks along the river front made the diaper pull and slip down her skinny little butt and legs. A five minute car ride later, standing in the lobby of our church, she tells me potty again. I watch in bewilderment as light brown sweatpants turn dark and moist.
Try greeting your preist holding a urine soaked toddler with your right arm, and a handful of pee in your left. The statement, "wait till you have kids" lacks the usual pomp and circumstance when used with a dedicated celebate. Cora flashed him a sideways smile as I wisked her into the bathroom. "Hi" she said, with errant blue eyes. I think she was loud enough to cover my muttered unchristian curses (insert post title).