Check Me into Rehab, Please.
I've put down the hand sanitizer, taken a deep breath, and prayed my kids' immune systems do their jobs.
But every so often, my kids do something so foul which pulls me dangerously close to the sanitizer abyss.
Today that event happened in my most unfavorite place on the planet. A public restroom.
But not any public restroom, it was in the little kid stall at Zoo Atlanta.
Take a moment to visualize it with me, please.
It's miniature. It's specifically for humans that are still peeing on themselves half the time they go the restroom.
Big E was in one stall taking his required public man dump.
Little E was running in and out of stalls. Zoo Atlanta could not hold a candle to this bathroom. I could hear him giggling as he inventoried all the toilets.
Big E yelled for me to help him. As I was in the stall with Big E, door open of course, Little E walked into the stall next to us.
In the five minutes it took me to get Big E cleaned and buttoned up, Little E had locked the stall door and decided to crawl under the stall to escape. Except his giant head barely cleared the space. Little E shimmied his way under the stall door, the side of his face gliding across the dirty, urine stained tiles.
LITTLE E! LITTLE E! LITTLE E!
I tried to stop him, but he was a man on an ebola mission.
The damage was done. I looked around frantically for a bath tub and 17 gallons of hand sanitizer and possibly bleach. No such luck.
I washed his hands and wiped down his face and tried my best to suppress the image of Little E laying on the restroom floor.
Look, I'm trying to be a laid back, cool mom.
Please. Little E. Work with me.