Poopy Playdate

Johnny had his friend Ryan over today after school. The nice thing these days about playdates is that the kids can entertain each other, so I am rarely needed during a playdate. Except when I am needed, it is usually not good.

Ryan[From the bathroom]: "JOHNNY'S MOM?!!!...I NEED HELP!!!"

There's only one reason someone needs help in the bathroom. And after wiping many, many bottoms, I understand why the Europeans have bidets. I slowly finish up what I'm doing, as I'm not looking forward to the bottom that awaits.

Ryan: "JOHNNY'S MOM! I REALLY NEED HELP! I POOPED IN MY PANTS!"

Now knowing that this is a true emergency, I stop what I'm doing and break into a trot.
Me [entering bathroom and trying not to inhale]: Okay, Ryan, stay here while I get some wipes and new pants from upstairs.

I hurry upstairs to get said items. However, I'm not fast enough for Ryan. As I descend the staircase, Ryan is waddling naked through our living room, chunks falling to the floor.

Ryan: "I NEED NEW PANTS!"
Me: "I KNOW you do! That's why I told you I was GETTING THEM and for you to STAY IN THE BATHROOM!"

Ryan got his new clothes, and John got his new clothes (he chose this time to urinate in his pants as well). Content in their clean dry clothes, the boys sat down to play computer games. There is one game that Johnny loves that features puttering cars. To a little boy's ears, though, the puttering sounds like gas-passing. Ryan bursts into laughter.

Ryan: "Hey, those cars are tooting!" [Not getting the pun.]

He almost sounded superior the way he said it, like he couldn't imagine anyone breaking wind in front of anyone else. And it's times like these that I wish that there were another adult around to laugh with, so I actually went into my room to say the words out loud to myself, "THIS from the kid who just POOPED all over himself and made his friend's mom clean it up?!!" I am a good audience, because I always agree with myself and laugh at my own jokes.

I just know that Karma dictates that this had to happen. At least a dozen times I have retrieved Johnny and Annie at playdates along with a plastic jewel bag of soiled clothes. And on one awful occasion picking up Johnny from a playdate, the front door was opened for me to reveal my precious boy in the background, standing at the top of the basement stairs with his pants around his ankles, urinating down the steps. His excuse was that he couldn't find the bathroom.