We left Woodstock on Friday for my sister's in Connecticut. The trip was easy enough, and I sat in back with Samson to help keep him occupied (and serve as a sunblocker because I broke the little shade in a fit of pique when it wouldn't retract properly, thereby leaving no question as to where young Samson gets his temper [or predilection for throwing things] from).
Sam got to take the inaugural bath in Aunt Mo and Uncle Greg's newly remodeled bathroom, and we had a nice quiet Friday night with Chinese food and a movie and Samson sleeping soundly by seven [how's that for alliteration?].
Kind of a nice break after the crowds at Thanksgiving. It really was great to see everyone, but all the attention and stimulation had Samson spinning like a top at the end of the day.
On Saturday we went to Duchess for lunch [trust me, the Big D cheeseburger is the way to go] and then to the nicest library on the planet. Their kids' section is bigger than our house, and it is probably nicer than half of the children's museums we've been to (it is certainly nicer than our house).
In keeping with our track record at the library, disaster struck. Maybe it was the Duchess, or perhaps some cosmic confluence of post-Thanksgiving dining and too many snacky things, but Samson took the mother of all poos in the "Little Farm" section of the kids area.
Little Farm, indeed.
Sadly, and I'm amazed that this hasn't happened before, neither of us checked the diaper bag before leaving the house, and so in actuality, the bag was a lie. No diapers. Just bag. Lots of snacks, two wallets, two cell phones, a sippy cup, a fleet of matchbox cars, and other assorted toys/distractions, but nary a diaper or wipe to be found. I felt a little like Richard III, except with Huggies, not horses.
Vicki and my sister headed out on foot to the nearest pharmacy [there were no other kids of similar size to Samson from whose parents we could "borrow" a diaper], while Greg and I played with King Stinky.
I'm not sure if the various people who crossed our path as we played thought that Sam had "two daddies" or were considering reporting us for child abuse because of Samson's Bhopal-like sillage, but just about everybody gave us a wide berth during those 20 or so minutes before the cavalry arrived and we could change the little man.
Interestingly enough, he was totally unfazed by the whole thing.
Which is either really Zen or really gross. I'm just not sure which.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Mmmmmm....Dutchess. Thanks to you, I now have a major jones for a Big D w/ cheese (sans pickles) and the closest franchise is 986 miles from my current location. If I were on death row, I would have to put the Big D combo on the short list for my final meal.
And I wonder why my "fat pants" keep getting fatter.....
Post a Comment