A Fair Trade

I read in a blog a few months ago about how it wasn't a good idea to write about things your kids do that might embarrass them. The reason was because their friends might read it and make fun of them. At the time I thought that it was wise counsel, and I might have hesitated in writing about Bradley pooping in his pants yesterday. However, considering my son does not have any friends who read their friend's mother's blog, or any friends aside from siblings for that matter, I don't see any reason to try to suppress his fecal mishap.

But...just to make it fair I will tell of the time when I was in the first grade. The year was 1982. Our class was square dancing in the gym. The Hawaiian Punch I drank for lunch passed through quicker than normal and my bladder was full. It was ingrained in me by my mother that public restrooms were horrible nasty places and to avoid them at all costs. As the words of my mother echoed through my head, I concentrated on holding it as I learned to dosado and promenade around my white-haired, awkward partner, Darrell. But a 6 year old bladder is only so mature and, like a water balloon filled beyond the point of being able to tie a knot, it started to leak. If you are a girl you can understand that once it starts, there's no stopping it. It started as a warm trickle down the leg that slowly bled through my red Annie polyester pants and finally culminated into a fresh yellow puddle on the white linoleum tile. I stood frozen and embarrassed as one by one the word passed around the square dance circle that I peed. There was no getting out of the situation and I continued to stand there until the teacher told me to go to the office. I couldn't tell if she was mad, annoyed, or disgusted, but whatever her emotion, I felt punished. I was escorted to the school nurse who pulled out a box of donated clothes for incidents such as these. I loved those Annie pants and now I had to wear Holly Hobby bell bottoms. Apparently no kid had peed their pants at the school in the past decade. But I had no choice and walked out of the nurse's office carrying a paper grocery bag containing my wet clothes and wearing my loner Holly Hobby pants that totally did not match my Annie and Sandy shirt. Thankfully I had friends and they kindly greeted me when I went back to class and gathered around my desk to curiously inquire about my new pants. The humiliation haunts me to this day, thanks to my husband who loves to remind me that I was "the kid who peed her pants" in the first grade.

So I say we're pretty even. Wouldn't you say, Bradley?

(But at least I didn't poop.)