We were at a picnic at my aunt Roxy’s house this summer and it was blistering hot outside. When my mom and her sister’s get together they tend to take over the roles of all parents involved, allowing the children to do pretty much whatever they please. My son, who usually doesn’t get to drink pop, was throwing them back like a pro. A little pop once in a while is OK but he has a bladder the size of a Pixo so I try to limit his intake. My aunt Kathy must have decided that cups were not big enough for him because she proceeded to give him a 2-liter bottle of Cherry Coke to have for his very own.
It wasn’t a full bottle but it was full enough. Where ever he went he carried his bottle with him and drank straight out of it, spilling it all over. The crowd
reveled in my displeasure of the situation and encouraged him further by chanting “chug, chug, chug!” I must add that my Uncle Randy was the ring leader at this event.
I didn’t have to worry about him ruining his shirt though as it oozed down his belley because he was hot and my mother told him it was OK for him to run around shirtless. When he asked me if he could take off his sandals I told him “no” but was again shot down as he ran over and asked my aunt Roxy if he could remove them and she told him yes. I sat in a lawn chair rolling my eyes as my children stuck their tongues out at me; they knew I was powerless among this group of women.
When it was time to go home we said our good-bye’s and we were ready to take off when someone (Uncle Randy) noticed that we had forgotten the 2-liter bottle of Cherry Coke that now only had about an inch worth of pop left in it. I argued but once again was kicked to the curb as they insisted he get to take the pop with him. I breathed a sigh of relief as we drove away. It was a nice party but I was happy to be in control of my children once again. Well, sort of.
It was a forty-five minute drive home and I knew eventually he would “have to go.” Two blocks down the road and he was clearly in distress, holding himself and telling me he had to go really bad. I told him to hold it for a little bit and that there was a gas station on the way out of town that I would stop at. As promised we pulled into the lot and I hurried to get him out of the car. Much to my dismay I noticed he had forgotten the shirt my mother told him he could take off and was not wearing the sandals his aunt Roxy told him he could remove. No shirt, no shoes, no peeing!
I got back in the car and began driving, discussing with myself what I was going to do and cussing out my mother and her brothers and sisters. He obviously would not be able to make it all the way home but there was no way I could sneak him into a public place half dressed. I had an idea! There was a gas station a few miles up the road, I would pull around to the back and allow him to go in the parking lot.
By the time we arrived he was upset and crying.
There was a lot of action in the back of this gas station, something I wasn’t counting on. I told him to open his car door and to pee out into the gravel. He
did as I asked but got upset when his sister starting lecturing him on public urination and he proceeded to pee all over the car door. With people pointing and laughing I told him to buckle up and I spun gravel on the way out of the parking lot.
Back on the road I breathed a sigh of relief and turned on the radio. I could hear the children discussing something in the backseat and then heard my son crying once again. This time his sister had convinced him that a police officer had witnessed his public urination and that they were following us and that they were going to take him to jail. I tried to convince him that it wasn’t true but they really was a police officer behind us and I was beginning to wonder myself if he was “after us.”
“Mom, I have to pee!” But you just went, I thought to myself and I could see in the rear view mirror that the 2-liter bottle of Cherry Coke was now completely empty and we had miles to go before we would be home. With a police officer on my tail there was no way I could pull over or speed so we were just stuck. So I did the unthinkable; I told him that if he had to go in his pants that it would be OK. He was clearly devastated at the thought and cried all the way home rocking back and forth and trying not to go in his
I zoomed into the garage, pulled him out of the car and stood him on the porch as I fumbled with the key to the house. It was then that he peed in his shorts and left a nice puddle on the porch.
And that my friend’s is how a 2-liter bottle of Cherry Coke (and my mother and her siblings) once ruined my day!