A wee excerpt from my normal life…
Taking the elevator from the top floor in Ikea, down to the bottom with my cousin. Oh, how do we love Ikea. So many things to think and plan about, meatballs to eat, lighting fixtures to drool over. It is a beautiful place for the female members of my family.
Let’s backtrack a little…. rewind back to the food court on the top floor, about 10 minutes earlier… focus in on our lovely Ikea meal we were having. Well, that C and I were having, as V was clearly not interested in having any part of it. This was illustrated by the carrots and cheese that he spat out. Spat out with force, I might add. He got some serious distance. Where did this random ‘skill’ come from? No idea…(signs are pointing towards his father though…)
So, as we fought with the meal tray, dropped carrots all over the place, spat out some meatball, smeared things all over our very small 18 month-sized shirt….all of this heavy action was followed by a stealth-poop.
And by stealth-poop, I mean that there were none of the usual warning signs. No grunting, no red face, no nuttin’……
Just an unfortunate smell…. one that crept up on me. It took C a while to notice… and that is because she does not have a poop-machine at home and so doesn’t recognize the early aromas-slash-signs….
But when it hit her…. oh man. It really hit her.
By then we were already on our way to the ‘family’ change-room.
But. It was locked. Damn it!! My son’s poop-bottom is more important than yours!
So I headed into the main washroom which thankfully had a changing-station.
Oh, that poor ladies-room. It was quickly defiled the instant that my son’s pants came off. That movement was punctuated by C’s exclamation of ‘Motherf’er! Jame. That. Is. Awful.”
It might have been, but honestly, my nostrils are immune to stank like that. And my eyeballs don’t even notice anymore.
The other ladies that exited stalls and washed their hands smiled at my commentary regarding Little Man’s stinky pants. His very stinky pants. And how nice that the changing table was situated so that his dirty little bottom faced the mirrors and was reflected down the washroom.
As I wiped, cleaned, wiped and wiped some more, ladies filed in and out. There were giggles. Some of them might have come from my cousin.
As I reached into my diaper bag and pulled out a stank-diaper bag (you know, one of those ‘green’ bags that you stuff your stink into when you are out in public so the trash doesn’t stink awfully?) and got ready to deposit the ‘deposit’ into it, my cousin exclaimed at its cleverness. Really, it is very clever.
Such a nice way to tidy up after a stinky bum.
The lady washing her hands at the sink chimed in “I use plastic bags to clean up my cat’s litter box. They are so handy.”
C: “But I bet yours aren’t Arm and Hammer”.
Bathroom Lady: “No. You are right. I just use regular plastic bags”. *laugh*
Jaime: “My bags come with a handy container to hook on your hand-bag”.
C: “Quite handy when you are at Ikea”
BL: “I don’t bring my cats with me to Ikea”.
And then we left the bathroom and headed down to the ground floor…
Just another normal day….