Published in The Broomfield Enterprise, 5/27/07

“You’re not going to want to go back to Dillard’s.”

He didn’t even say hello. I walked down Newbury Street with my two sisters and our mother at the height of our girls’ weekend together. We were decked out in our high heels and trendy clothes, and heading towards the hippest restaurant on the street, Davio’s, where Oprah had eaten just the night before. We chatted like kids and pretended not to look for celebrities. And then my phone rang.

“You’re not going to want to go back to Dillard’s,” my husband said.

“Oh dear,” I sighed. “Tell me what happened.”

And he began a story that gave me a twinge of regret at leaving our children in his care so I could have a much-needed two-day break from motherhood.

He had taken our three young children to the dinosaur play area at the mall. Our middle son, a typical four-year-old, was enjoying himself too much to admit that he had to go to the bathroom. Badly. At one point—and apparently this was the tip off to my husband—he held his behind with both hands, thinking that might stop whatever process had been set in place.

My husband took him by the hand and headed towards the nearest bathroom, which is a 2.5-mile trek to the very farthest back corner of Dillard’s Department Store. Alas, they would not make it. My little baby’s body could not hold it in anymore.

It is important to note here, again, that he was being taken care of by his father–which, of course, meant that he had no underwear on. It also means that they had been fed McDonald’s and large amounts of starchy junk foods. You get my drift here, right? I’m just saying…what goes in must come out… So, what his little body produced slid right down his pant leg and onto the glossy tiled floor between the makeup counter and the accessories.

My baby boy then looked up at his dad and said, “I’m not done.”

Breathless and on the run, my husband and our son jolted into the men’s room while the loudspeakers pumped, “Housekeeping 911! HOUSEKEEPING 911!!” throughout the store.

He was a fugitive, an escapee twitching with paranoia. At one point, he considered cutting and dying his hair like Ponyboy in The Outsiders, but our son brought him back to the present by saying he was ready to go back and play with the dinosaurs. The clean up job was lengthy, as you can imagine. And when they finished, my husband settled on a baseball cap and tying his coat around his waist for the shameful journey out.

*****

I stood still at the crosswalk, my mouth agape, realizing how silly it was for me to think I could actually have a relaxing two-day-break from motherhood. Fortunately, I would not let it ruin my night.

First of all, I realized that I could go back to Dillard’s whenever I wanted. And so could my son. It was the guy who left his kid’s poopy in the middle of the store and then put a hat on to try and disguise himself as someone different that had to watch out. Yes sir–life was good for me at the moment. This must be how my husband feels, knowing there’s nothing he can do to help when I call him with issues during the day.

And it was with that thought, that I headed into the restaurant, sat down with my girls and had one of the most relaxing evenings of my life.