Mooning around

Today we visited Winchester Science centre. We’re annual pass holders and were excited to take part in their special space activities. Of course, I asked my children to go to the toilet before we left, as all parents do prior to significant car journeys. Yet as soon as we arrived in the car park, middle son announced that he needed a wee. Luckily we happen to have a resident potty in the boot of the car, so I thought we were off to a pretty good start. I was feeling pretty brave. Brave enough to be in an occupied, public building with three boys (aged 5 and under) and without my other half. My logic was that, being eldest son’s INSET day meant that the school holidays hadn’t started for most people yet. As a result, it would be relatively quiet inside. How wrong I was. The queue went out the door and my eldest has the attention span of an ant. Apologies to the local ant colonies if I’ve made an unfair assumption about their species being impatient. Fortuitously, we were not completely alone, as we were meeting a friend and her children. She’d already made it past the entrance desk, so was able to intercept eldest son and divert him to the parachute exhibit, where I could see him from my position at the back of the train of people. He was already doing his jumpy, happy, dance (where the arms flail in all directions and the eyes light up). He loves this place – it’s so hands on.

If you discount my boys constantly running in opposite directions to investigate the next exciting science display, the trip was relatively uneventful. Until at one crucial point, while nursing youngest son, I became aware of middle boy doing a peculiar jig – involving a bit of wiggle and bit of a bottom shuffle. Recognising this as a sign of what was to come, I called him over and informed him that we were going to the toilet. Now. As I began detaching the baby from his latch, the middle boy disappeared – straight into the men’s loo. My boys do seem to prefer the male toilet. It possible that on this occasion it was selected on account of the door being painted orange. You may already have established from previous blog entries that middle child has an attraction to this particular colour. However it is more likely connected to the statement I have been told many times by my eldest, “Boys toilets are for boys and we are boys.” This is never an issue on family days out, when husband can go with them. But today husband wasn’t here. I quickly came up with a plan: send in eldest boy to check the coast was clear, so I could go in and assist. Getting his attention was the first hurdle – he gets easily distracted by buttons to push and levers to pull. I enlisted the assistance of my friend and her daughter to get his attention without losing sight of the bathroom door. Then I began explaining his ‘toilet mission’ to him, “This is important, you need to…”

I didn’t get any further because middle son had returned, pants and trousers still round his ankles, a huge smile on his face. “Mummy come and see my wee.” he announced proudly. Except he has no interest in showing me his ‘wees’. When you couple that with the fact that he hadn’t bothered to pull up his clothing, it became immediately clear that he was looking so pleased with himself because he had just deposited a turd. I took his hand and headed speedily for the ladies (despite his protests). I was told that there was nothing to see in there. I replied that yes, there was! Toilet paper was available. I also had no desire to view his excrement. Luckily we weren’t far from the toilets and so I didn’t have to escort him the entire distance of the centre.

Once inside, I became aware very quickly that I was still holding the baby. A quick thinking person might have left him with their friend, but in my haste and eagerness to remove my son’s bottom from the view of the unsuspecting general public; I hadn’t done that. I hadn’t even had the presence of mind to bring youngest son’s pram to put him down in. I am therefore, very grateful to the amiable, old lady who held youngest son for me at such an angle that he was able to see Mummy (thereby avoiding a spontaneous bout of tears), while I assisted with the bottom wiping. I felt like we were doing the ‘walk of shame’ when we exited the toilets again, my face burning with embarrassment. I was reassured by my friend that very few people had actually noticed. In fairness, the man leaving the men’s toilets (shortly after my son had finished his poo) probably witnessed more than he’d bargained for, but he smiled in jest over in our direction – suggesting that he wasn’t offended and could probably see the funny side.

I’d love to write that the remainder of the trip was incident free. However, the suggestion of home time was accompanied by a tantrum from eldest boy who had no intention of leaving. That was until I used that ‘Mummy line’, suggesting he walks home instead (a line that you really hope they don’t agree to – because walking home was never realistically an option). He made it to the coat pegs, still crying his eyes out. A hug from his friend and all was well again. Temporarily. As we walked across the carpark, I requested the boys either held my hand or held onto the pushchair. Neither child normally appreciates holding Mummy’s hand. On this occasion they were both squabbling over it. I contemplated trying to wrap one of my arms through the bar at the top of the pushchair, so I could hold both the bigger two by the hand, while simultaneously trying to manoeuvre the pushchair with my knee. This kind of planning was completely unnecessary, when it became apparent that both boys wanted to hold my left hand. We compromised and eventually reached the serenity of the car. Overall an exhausting but very enjoyable day.

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