My kids love it. They load up on kosher food, enjoy some great music, and run around like maniacs until I drag them kicking and screaming into the van.
Friday evening was a particular lovely night. After the service, all the kids were running around outside in the Holocaust Garden, uplifting, I know.
Mid-stride, Big E froze and declared the four words I HATE HATE HATE to hear in public.
I HAVE TO POOP!
All that running had done the trick.
I ask a friend to look after Little E so he doesn't take a swim in the water fountain and begin the bathroom sprint with Big E.
We run down the hallway with the pictures of the old Rabbis and ancient artifacts. I feel like they are watching us.
I HAVE TO POOP! I HAVE TO POOP! I HAVE TO POOP!
I'm praying he isn't interrupting the regular services.
We buzz by an older lady walking in the direction of the restroom. Since I'm already praying, I pray this lady isn't also headed to our destination.
We walk in and it is deserted.
I rush Big E into a stall while he does the dance. I hoist him up on the toilet. He looks up at me and smiles.
Then I hear footsteps and a stall door shut.
Dang. We are not alone.
I know what's coming next. My favorite part. The narration.
First he whispers.
i'm doing it.
I'M DOING IT, MOMMY!
It's not like he was having a baby, it's just a BM.
I try to shhh Big E, but it was no use.
I DID IT! I MADE DIRTS.
IT IS YELLOW AND ORANGE FROM MY CARROTS.
Please, please, please stop describing it. We are not THAT kind of family.
I hear the lady washing her hands.
We exit the stall.
Time to face the music.
I smile politely at her.
She doesn't say anything to us.
I couldn't tell if she was completely mortified by Big E or just shocked into silence.
Either way, I was relieved to exit the scene of the crime and release him into the herd of children running rampant in the garden.