I arrived home from a quick, emergency trip to the grocery store (we were out of coffee) to find my house in complete disarray. Popcorn on the floor, lamps knocked over, dog’s water bowl spilled, backpacks strewn over floors — oh wait, that’s normal — window blinds hanging crooked and drawers half shut with sharp utensils sticking out.
Certainly, a burglar appeared during the twenty minutes I was gone, ransacked the house and locked the kids and dogs in a closet. I screamed out for the kids.
“Mom, you don’t have to yell. We’re right here,” came the Voice from the couch.
Both kids lay lazily over the cushions, with both dogs licking left-over Cracker Jack off their chins. Why can’t they make that stuff without peanuts?
“What happened???” I screamed anyway, my heart still pounding from the sight.
“The phone rang.”
I should’ve known. My kids step, jump, and run on, over, and under anything or anyone not moving, to reach a ringing phone. Unless, I’m in the bathroom. Then they are deaf and/or nowhere in sight.
Had I memorized page 372 of The Mommy Manual, I’d have known when a mom spares two precious moments to finally allow herself to go to the bathroom, the rest of the family suddenly becomes transformed. Children, who’ve gotten along for days, pick Mom’s Time In The Bathroom to fight World War III over the last two scoops of ice cream.
Husbands, who’ve dressed themselves for 45 years, suddenly forget how to match a tie with their shirt. They no longer know in which kitchen drawer rubber spatulas are kept. The man won’t scrape a bowl in weeks until Mom needs to go to the bathroom — then his inner Betty Crocker emerges.
When Mom goes in the bathroom, dogs that’ve been housetrained for four years, will forget how to go outside, and develop a strong attraction to the new living room carpet. Mom will only know this because her children, once perfectly capable of ripping a paper towel off the roll, will become paralyzed with “poopy fear.” Dogpoopie Paralysis freezes all parts of their bodies, except their vocal chords, which will be used to yell through a locked bathroom door, “Yeah, but I let him eat my left-over chili last night.”
The repairman, who said he’d promptly fix your new dryer between the hours of 8a.m. and 4p.m., will knock on your front door while you’re in the bathroom. But only after you held it for hours, afraid he’d knock on the door while you were otherwise indisposed.
The phone call you waited for all week will come when you’re in the bathroom. They won’t leave a message and caller I.D. will say, “Private Number/Unavailable.”
I frantically flipped to page 373 of The Mommy Manual. Where was the antidote to Dogpoopie Paralysis and Colorblind Betty Crockers? The answer: “Call the local phone company. Have them come out and install a phone jack in your bathroom. Just don’t drink much coffee the day they’re due to arrive. They’ll be there between 8a.m. and 5p.m.”
Karen Rinehart is a syndicated newspaper columnist, public speaker, and creator of The Bus Stop Mommies™. Her book, Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life, is a popular read in book clubs, school pick-up lines, and soccer fields. She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan, and England. You can read more at www.busstopmommies.com. Karen lives in North Carolina with her two kids, two dogs, and one husband, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dogs at home.)
