Dunk Tank or Don's John? :A story of panic in the porta-potty:

One of the most annoying things about having to take Hayden to soccer is taking Bailey as well.  She won't sit (shocker) and she constantly runs out onto the field because she wants to play too.  Thankfully, this past weekend her Aunt Jenni and Grandpa Rick were there to help subdue her while Hayden played uninterrupted.  Before the soccer game, as we were waiting for Jenni to come over to the house, Hayden gave Bailey some tattoos:

Bailey is about 99% potty-trained, she doesn't even wear pull-ups at night.  So I always have to be prepared for the "Mommy Mommy I gotta go potty quickly" announcement.  Of course, this announcement arrived about half way through the game.  Seriously?  We have to go in....there?  Well. ok.  Jenni, sure you don't want to take her?  No? Ok. Enter the dreaded porta-potty.  My very first, and surprised, thought was that it didn't smell (I'm assuming this is because it was not 90 degrees outside).  However, that does not negate the basic purpose, and therefore what you know is in there whether it smells or not.  Ewwww. Next I look to where Bailey will have to sit.  Oh...HELL...no.  I am not putting my beautiful little baby girl on that seat because - look!  She could fall in!  Please please don't fall in.  The instant I thought about her falling in I also thought, oh God, I would have to go in after her!  No no no no.  How would I get her cleaned off?  Is there a hose?  I don't think there's a hose.  I would have to steal everyone's little water bottles!  And what about the car?  I would never get the smell out of the car.  This cannot, under any circumstances, turn out the way my overactive imagination was portraying.  So I put the death grip on Bailey as she teetered unsteadily on that huge "toilet"...with what may as well have been molten lava below.  Ultimately, she never went potty.  I can imagine it is hard to go pee when you are being suffocated by your mother's octopus-like death grip. 

And so ends another chapter in the Joy of Mothering.  I will conclude with this little tidbit, a gift Bailey gave me while I was at a meeting the other night.  I woke up in the morning to find this in her room: