Bag

I keep a little list of blog ideas on my phone.  They’ll usually say “Poop,” or “Hanna” or “Storm.”  To remind me of today’s post, I had “Pee Bag.”

A few weeks ago, we drove out to Diana’s dad’s house for a Mother’s Day BBQ.  After a quick stop at Starbucks to cut through my low grade headache, we jumped onto highway 294 for the hop skip and jump to Lisle.

About 5 miles into the trip, we hit a massive backup on the highway.  No movement whatsoever.  A fleet of fire trucks and ambulances flew by on our left, which signaled something bad was happening.  On the bright side, Luca got to scream, “Fire Engine!” every five seconds.

I slunked down in my seat and resisted the overwhelming urge to lay on my horn.

Almost as if on cue, Elijah said, “I have to go potty.”

Like all great parents, Diana and I ignored him.

“I have to go potty now!”

I scanned the area.  We were in the middle of 6 lanes of traffic with no cover except for a billboard advertising a nearby strip club. 

“Hey, it’s too dangerous to go outside.  You’ll have to hold it.  We’ll be at Papa’s in the next hour or so.”

“I have to go potty now!  Right now!”

I said, “Whelp.  Just go in your pants, dude.”

Diana looked at me with a look that communicated her thankfulness I am not the day to day caregiver of her children.  She then reached into the diaper bag and pulled out a plastic sandwich baggie.

They got him out of his pants and he unleashed into the bag.  Luca was too occupied with the sirens to notice his brother getting closer and closer to overflowing the baggie. 

It was only after he finished did we realize the baggie did, in fact, have a leak.

I suggested we throw it out the window and onto the windshield of the semi adjacent to us.  Diana opted to zip the top and hold the piping hot plastic at a non leaky angle. 

We were on our way shortly after and had to distract the kids away from the carnage a few 100 feet away.