I should have HazMat on speed-dial

I am not a germophobe. I have pretty strong faith in the human immune system. And I have survived the potty-training of two boys. (With one more to go, at which time I will deserve a medal of honor.) I clean their biohazard bathroom with minimal hysteria. No passing out, and I only rarely yell, "This is disgusting!" I think I only vomited once, and that's when I was pregnant. I am not a bathroom wimp. Which is good, because the boys are pretty oblivious to the alarming stench and ick they produce on a daily basis.

I do, however, kind of have an aversion to port-a-potties. I don't think that's unreasonable.

So, given this information, imagine my horror. My seven-year-old son emerged from a port-a-potty this weekend gagging. And said, in a quiet and somewhat stunned voice, "I think I should probably wash my hands before I eat."

I do not want to know what happened in there.

Just add sugar

Two pieces of information that are important to this story:

1) Aunt Ali visited last week. She's the best aunt who ever aunted. And she maybe has just the slightest tendency to get the kids just a little excited.

2) While taking Ali back to the airport to go home, we stopped at DQ. The kids got slushes, and sucked down a good portion of them pretty quickly. (Brain freeze? They laugh in the face of brain freeze.)

And then Evan had to go to the bathroom.

For those of you who have never taken a three-year-old boy to a public restroom, let me explain: it's simultaneously amusing and terrifying. When the three-year-old is Evan, these feelings are more extreme. (Evan is the kid who never walks anywhere: he trots, he prances, he jumps, he skips, he runs, he tries to fly... you know the kid I'm talking about. He has a very interesting reality, and it makes even the most mundane things kind of exciting.)

Anyway, Evan was hopped up on sugar and Aunt Ali. Note the crazed look in the photo. By the end of the bathroom trip, I was clutching my sides with laughter while wondering how to ship him to the CDC for a total-body decon. (Do they do that? They should consider it.)

I'll spare you the gory details that only mothers of little boys want to consider. Suffice it to say that within 45 seconds, that kid touched every square inch of the bathroom that was within his little reach. I must have said "no" ("NO!") 73 times. The automatic toilets and paper towel dispensers are sources of endless awe to him. The automatic blow dryer detonated while he was twirling around in front of it, nearly giving him a heart attack. He opened the stall door before I was fully covered. He sat on the floor. He tried to do a handstand. He nearly crawled into the sink for a bath while washing his hands. I can't even remember the rest. I think I've blocked it.

I'm just feeling lucky that it was a relatively clean restaurant and that neither of us has come down with a communicable disease (yet).

Ali, we love you. You rock. And next time you buy Evan a slush, you get to take him to the bathroom.