In this world of so much hard things to hear, I thought you might enjoy a bit of fun reading.
 
 
Patty Hayes

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This is hysterical. Don't read unless you are in a place where you can laugh out loud, seriously. :)
 
 

A 3-year-old tells all from his mother's restroom stall.
By Shannon Popkin
 

My little guy, Cade, is quite a talker. He loves to communicate and
does it quite well. He talks to people constantly, whether we're in
the library, the grocery store or at a drive-thru window.

People often comment on how clearly he speaks for a
just-turned-3-year-old. And you never have to ask him to turn up the
volume. It's always fully cranked. There've been several embarrassing
times that I've wished the meaning of his words would have been masked
by a not-so-audible voice, but never have I wished this more than last
week at Costco.

Halfway, through our shopping trip, nature called, so I took Cade with
me into the restroom. If you'd been one of the ladies in the restroom
that evening, this is what you would have heard coming from the second
to the last stall:

"Mommy, are you gonna go potty? Oh! Why are you putting toiwet paper
on the potty, Mommy? Oh! You gonna sit down on da toiwet paper now?
Mommy, what are you doing? Mommy, are you gonna go stinkies on the
potty?"

At this point I started mentally counting how many women had been in
the bathroom when I walked in. Several stalls were full ... 4? 5?
Maybe we could wait until they all left before I had to make my debut
out of this stall and reveal my identity.

Cade continued, "Mommy, you ARE going stinkies aren't you? Oh, dats a
good girl, Mommy! Are you gonna get some candy for going stinkies on
the potty? Let me see doze stinkies, Mommy! Oh ... Mommy! I'm trying
to see in dere. Oh! I see dem. Dat is a very good girl, Mommy. You are
gonna get some candy!"

I heard a few faint chuckles coming from the stalls on either side of
me. Where is a screaming new born when you need her? Good grief. This
was really getting embarrassing. I was definitely waiting a long time
before exiting.

Trying to divert him, I said, "Why don't you look in Mommy's purse and
see if you can find some candy We'll both have some!" "No, I'm trying
to see doze more stinkies. Oh! Mommy!" He started to gag at this
point. "Uh oh, Mommy. I fink I'm gonna frow up. Mommy, doze stinkies
are making me frow up!! Dat is so gross!!"

As the gags became louder, so did the chuckles outside my stall. I
quickly flushed the toilet in hopes of changing the subject. I began
to reason with myself: OK. There are four other toilets. If I count
four flushes, I can be reasonably assured that those who overheard
this embarrassing monologue will be long gone.

"Mommy! Would you get off the potty, now? I want you to be done going
stinkies! Get up! Get up!" He grunted as he tried to pull me off.

Now I could hear full-blown laughter. I bent down to count the feet
outside my door.
"Oh, are you wooking under dere, Mommy? You wooking under da door?
What were you wooking at, Mommy? You wooking at the wady's feet?"

More laughter. I stood inside the locked door and tried to assess the situation.
"Mommy, it's time to wash our hands, now. We have to go out now,
Mommy." He started pounding on the door. "Mommy, don't you want to
wash your hands? I want to go out!!"

I saw that my "wait 'em out" plan was unraveling. I sheepishly opened
the door, and found standing outside my stall, twenty to thirty ladies
crowded around the stall, all smiling and starting to applaud. My
first thought was complete emabarassment, then I thought, "Where's the
fine print on the 'motherhood contract' where I signed away every bit
of my dignity and privacy?" But as my little boy gave me a big, cheeky
grin while he rubbed bubbly soap between his chubby little hands, I
thought, I'd sign it all away again, just to be known as Mommy to this
little fellow.

(Shannon Popkin is a freelance writer and mother of three. She lives
with her family in Grand Rapids , Michigan , where she no longer uses
public restrooms)