There was a reason we were in the hobby shop. Part of the reason was because I am a twirtysomething female who had, heretofore, never visited a hobby shop! The crime! The other half of the reason is because there was a rockin' train table in the front of the hobby shop whereby my Little Man could play while I explored the aisles chock full o' Dungeons and Dragons paraphernalia.
Of course the part about leaving the child to be babysat by Chuggington & Friends is patently false. I would never venture to the Dungeons and Dragons aisle! The! I was obviously trying to find the hardest puzzle that a hobby shop could offer. You figure this was a shop for hobbyists, you know they be having some Rhodes Scholars-caliber jigsaw action, am I right or am I right?
We're making fine time in the hobby shop, Little Man running all the trains on schedule, and I finding puzzles that would make NASA cry salty tears to solve.
But then, my organs decided to fail me.
I was perfectly poised for the pending pick-up of Baby Girl in 35 minutes.
I was standing in the middle of a retail establishment run by men who freelance as Pokemon at ComicCon.
So of course, my intestines start to combust.
I gather Little Man and we make a break for the restroom THANK YOU, PROVIDENCE, there was a restroom in the back of the hobby shop. But it was a one-top situation. There was just the singular crapper and the sink and then there was the door.
When you pry a 2 year-old away from train candy, he will thank you by giving you options:
- 1. You can choose to leave him at the train table where after 0.2 seconds he will realize his abandonment and child protective services will be waiting for you with the cuffs when you get out. 2. You can bring him into the restroom with you where after 0.2 seconds he will reach up for the handle WAIT YOU CAN REACH THAT NOW?!? and expose his mother, sitting on the throne with her pants around her ankles, in front of Pokemon & Co. 3. You can hold him on your lap while your intestines Chernobyl and you can watch the unicorns jumping over rainbows as you soak in this sweet moment of motherhood.
35 minutes later and you are right on time for pick-up. Winner Winner Chicken Dinner! Pay no attention to the thrashing toddler in your arms, who is so hysterical from being wrenched from his beloved train table YOU HAVE A BETTER ONE AT HOME, KID, who does not fail to go for the jugular even in front of 500 of your closest churchies.
The most amazing part is that you are muttering all kinds of colorful things to yourself Why the flerkity flerk flerk is this shibblety shibble happening and then lo! Baby Girl OH HONEY, HOW WAS VACATION BIBLE SCHOOL?? TELL ME ABOUT THE MEMORY VERSE YOU LEARNED TODAY!!
Your son is convulsing so loudly now that this is not even about public restrooms or trains. It is just about humiliating you and making sure you know that you are NOT actually the conductor. You are still just along for the ride.
This train is bound for glory, y'all.