Friday, October 28, 2011

The boy who can't slow down.

Oh Donovan.

A couple evenings ago, Donovan flew into the house, a flurry of speed, and bolted toward the bathroom. A few seconds later, I heard him mournfully calling to Joel. Now, Donovan is not so old that I can't help him in times of need, but he is definitely approaching the age where bathroom-related crises are delegated to his father. Still, as I overheard some whiny gibberish, I decided to investigate.

I stood, framed by the doorway, in the space a normal didn't-leave-it-to-the-last-possible-nanosecond person would have filled with a closed door, and asked, "What's going on?"

Anguish dripped from his voice has he uttered, "I was going too fast...and I had to go so bad...and I pulled down my pants...but I forgot...and now my underwear..." and he nodded downward, unable to actually apply words to what had occurred.

I looked down and beheld my son, sitting on the toilet, jeans around his ankles, sweatshirt hiked up under his elbows, tighty-whities clearly stretched mid-thigh. Not high enough to be in its at-home location. Nowhere near low enough to avoid being soiled.

I half-frowned, half-squinted and shrugged, "Well that's embarrassing for you. Don't do that again." And I returned to the kitchen. WHERE I BELONG.

This moment in parenting is brought to you by Donovan, and his inability to take bathroom breaks.


Allison said...

Emaline understands this all too well. Just make sure he didn't leave a surprise in your entry way.