How do you do this?

Two Boy(s) with no school equal the summertime blues for my Lovely Bride. Last week, after a particularly arduous day she was nearing critical mass. A major melt down was imminent. Action was needed, as my MLB needed space, and fast. Supposedly there ain’t no cure for the summertime blues, but I thought, just maybe, an impromptu trip to Braum’s would do the trick.

The Boy(s) love Braum’s. I love Braum’s too. Not so much for the ice cream anymore (most of the time I don’t even get anything,) but in that there are places I remember in my life sort of way. Just like that song says, some are changed forever and not for better. Amen, my childhood Braum’s is long gone. It is actually a pool hall beer joint. Not that it matters much since I don’t live where I’m from anymore, in fact, from where I live there is a spot on replica of my childhood Braum’s. We’re talking an old Braum’s. No fancy super size store with a drive through for me. I like my Braum’s old school. Small and dirty, just like the one I frequented in my youth.

In fact, the moment I enter our local Braum’s and step onto that sticky brownish tile floor I’m transported back to another time and place. Hot summer nights and a Boy version of me monkeying around on that wonderful silver monkey like bar that some long ago Braum’s store designer decided should be the device they used to cordon the ice cream line.

That’s what I was thinking as we rolled into Braum’s in an effort to stop the melt show back at the Casa. I didn’t have much time for wistful recollections, my role as Dad quickly brought me back to the here and now as it was 2 on 1 with 1 of the 2 in my arms. A trip to Braum’s with two young Boy(s) isn’t real easy for this Mr. Mom. Thankfully Ethan likes to instruct me on what he wants (usually by pointing at one of the ice cream posters that adorn the walls of every Braum’s I’ve ever visited) and then go and stake out a booth. The Little Warrior living up to his billing has to be held during the ordering process. If I didn’t hold him he’d be at the nearest table trying to bum a bite (or flat out steal) of ice cream from a stranger, or worse, end up in the kitchen.

Trust me when I say it is not easy to navigate the order and payment process while holding Wy. I have to run constant interference while I move our order down the line to the payment area. If I let my guard down for an instant Wy will grab one of the treats and either try and cram it into his mouth or worse, plunge his hand into it and squeeze. I also have to be vigilant for the poor ignorant strangers next to us in line. They only see a cute 18 month old toddler, not the saavy Warrior who is luring them with his cuteness so he can grab their treats. It ain’t easy walking that line, and as hard as it is, it actually gets harder when I have to pay. Fishing my wallet while holding Wy and trying to collect my change and get our ice creams, spoons, and what amounts to a small tree worth of napkins is a bitch.

By the grace of all that is good, we make it back to the booth E has selected without dropping our ice cream selections or having Wy stick his hands in any of them. Once seated (Wy and I on one side, E on the other) both Boy(s) dive into their ice cream with complete abandon. This allows me a few moments of peace before I have to again play Dad by coordinating a bite exchange between the Boy(s). Once they are satisfied that the grass is in fact, not greener, Ethan continues to eat his selection and Wy goes for the salt and pepper. Since he always does this, you’d think I’d get smart and move the salt and pepper out of his reach when we sit down. Wrong. Wy almost always gets quite a few shakes off with the salt before I get it away from him. Meanwhile, Ethan continues to shovel in his ice cream as if we're not even at the same table.

After I take the salt away, Wyatt’s second go to move is to grab a wad of napkins and start cleaning. Have I mentioned Wy’s curious habit of cleaning? He loves it, sweeping, vacuuming, and dusting. In fact, with his napkins he begins to wipe up the salt he spilled earlier as well as the rest of our table (he pays careful attention not to get to close to Ethan fearing he might lose a finger as E is still shoveling in his ice cream.) After the table is clean enough in Wy's mind, he moves to the window ledge thing, then the window itself, then our booth, and finally me. He’ll actually wipe my pants down before he eventually gets bored and throws down the napkins. This is Wy’s way of saying, let’s go, I’m done. Problem is Ethan is not. So, I have to ask Ethan to hurry up and finish before Wy goes nuts. At this point, Ethan who only has the caramel sludge and melted ice cream liquid at the bottom of his cup (he most always gets a pecan caramel Sunday) picks up his Sunday and shoots the remains. When finished, he slams the cup back on the table which is his way of saying, I’m ready, let’s roll.

Roll we do. At least that is what has happened each and every time (with slight variations) that we’ve went to Braum’s the past few months. So, you can well imagine my shock when Ethan threw a big monkey wrench into the routine by saying this: “Daddy, I need to go to the bathroom.”

”What?”

Ethan is 99% potty trained. He can urinate inside or outside with the best of them. His only issue is crapping. He goes freestyle all day (sans diaper, wears underwear) long until he has the urge to shit, and then he requests a diaper because he’s afraid to poop on the toilet. (If anyone has any advice on this strange fear, please, give my your 2 cents. Let me say this, it is not constipation related which most every instruction manual says is the leading cause of fear to have a BM on the actual toilet.) Since he’s been going freestyle for a few months, Ethan and I have visited our fair share of public restrooms. Note the Ethan and I part of that statement. This was going to be my first venture into a public restroom with both Boy(s). Not just a public restroom, an old style Braum’s restroom. That meant two things to me. Small. Dirty. I must have spaced out stressing out about the prospect of our bathroom visit. Or was I simply hypnotized by that crazy purple bug zap light thing (why does Braum’s have those things?) Regardless, Ethan brought me back to the moment by saying, “Daddy, I need to pee pee - now.”

Ready, steady, GO!

Since this Braum’s was a replica of the one of my youth, I knew that the bathroom would be back by the grill order area behind a door next a water fountain. I put my hand around the back of Ethan’s neck to direct him toward the bathroom as I held (wrestled is more like it) Wy in my arms. Wy was not happy. He knew that the car was out the other door, and well, he wasn’t wanting to go behind this strange new door with me and his big brother.

Once behind the first door, I had to reposition our party, so I could open the men’s restroom door. Shoving it open I pushed Ethan into the small space by the back of his neck while holding onto a very agitated Wyatt who wanted no part in this bathroom venture. Once I had the door closed and locked (not sure why I locked it) I instructed Ethan to get busy doing number 1.

“Ok Ethan, pee pee.”

Nothing. He just stood staring at the wall opposite of the toilet. Frozen. He didn't even attempt to pull down his pants and underwear. Wy Wy is screaming by the way.

“Ethan, let’s go. Come on, Wyatt isn’t digging this, pee please.”

Nothing. I took his silence as a sign that he needed help with his shorts. E’s good at getting his pants or shorts down to pee if they have an elastic waist. But, if they have any kind of snap or button, he needs help, and that is what I thought was needed. That created a problem though. I was unsure if I would be able to stoop down to E’s level while holding Wyatt in such a small space. Then, even if I could pull that off, without dropping Wyatt in the shitter, how was I going to be able to unsnap or unbutton E’s pants one handed. There was no way, I’m simply not that coordinated. Exasperated, I again asked,

“Ethan – come on, let’s go to the bathroom.”

Nothing. Faced with Ethan’s complete silence - I was baffled, and forced to do something that I didn’t want to do. I had to put Wyatt down. Sweet mother of all that is good, this bathroom was gross. Dirty gross. I’m damn near Howard Hughes when it comes to germs. Let me put it another way. You know Leather Tuscadero? Sister of Pinky? Happy Days? The Leather who had the curious habit of greeting people by slapping her leg a few times and then pointing at them? You probably thought she was being cool in doing that, right? Not me. I thought she was smart - back in the day before Purell, she was smart to not shake hands because of GERMS! That's me, so you can well imagine how agitated the thought of putting Wyatt down in this filthy bathroom, and him touching everything was making me. Hell, I figured he’d probably try and clean the place. It was freaking me out, real hard. Still, I had to put him down, and do it in a way that would minimize him touching stuff, while I had two free hands to undo E’s pants.

That’s when the light bulb went off over my head. I quickly grabbed some paper towels and put them on the dirty floor for a place to rest my knees at which point I put Wyatt down in front of me as I went to my knees, reaching out for Ethan’s pants. The act of reaching out for Ethan extended my arms out around Wy who was corralled by my effort. Both hands were free so I could unsnap Ethan’s pants and pull down his underwear. Go Stu! I was still busy mentally congratulating myself, way to go to Stu, when I noticed that Ethan wasn’t going.

“Ethan, please pee pee so we can get out of this bathroom. Your brother (he’s screaming, pissed) is NOT happy. Come on man!”

Ethan finally turned from the wall, and looked at me in that inquisitive ‘why’ way of his, and asked, “How do you do this?”

Frustrated, on my knees in a dirty bathroom with a three year old standing in front of me with his pants down around his ankles, while his little brother wailed between my arms I said, more to myself than Ethan, “Exactly?”

I guess Ethan didn’t catch the sarcasm, because he again, asked, “How do you do this?” Confused to the point of becoming angry, I asked, “DO WHAT?!? Which was a bad move because my angry tone made Wy cry harder than before.

“It’s ok Dad.” Placated by a 3 year old.
“Thanks Ethan. Can you pee now, please”
“How do you do this?”
“DO WHat Son?
“This…” At which point Ethan grabbed both strands of toiler paper from the gargantuan toilet roll dispenser and started pulling - hard.

Slowly, with Wyatt screaming and Ethan pulling the toilet paper rolls, I realized what ‘this’ was. Becuase of his fear of the toilet, Ethan has never been in a public restroom stall. He had never seen a commercial sized TP dispenser with two jumbo rolls of TP. His limited experience with toilet paper has been with the home variety. Small. One roll. Faced with this commercial TP dispenser in what otherwise looked like a home bathroom, well Ethan was flat out mesmerized.

"Stop messing with the toilet paper please. I need you to pee pee now. That is a..." - As I explained about commercial sized toilet paper dispensers and why the two rolls were so large I thought back to the pre-breeder version of Stu. When I thought of being a "Dad" - I saw myself explaining certain things to my future kids. How to play golf. The birds and the bees. How you balance a checkbook. Those kind of things.

Trust me when I say, I never saw myself on my knees in a dirty bathroom explaining commercial grade toilet paper dispensers.

Until I BLOG again…Happy Birthday to me!