Potty talk

What's a mom blog, without some mention of BM's?

Have you ever been traveling and been appalled at gas station bathrooms? As frequent road warriors, it is something we often face. A few observations: Why do preschoolers always HAVE to poop when the only thing within miles is a rank and dusty truck stop? Ollie likes to take his time in these places. Despite my constant nagging, he puts his hands everywhere on the potty and seems to successfully contaminate his entire body. If your booty is small, you have to use your hands to balance, you see. I, myself, prefer the hover, but I cannot hold a three-year-old up for eternity. We have used a potty seat, but that just means that a common house hold tool also has been in the pit, so to speak. He also comments on everything in the bathroom from the writing on the wall to inquiries about every sound coming from the adjacent stall. I have had to sing in a public restroom before to help him along. On our last trip, we stopped for the 14th time at a gas station that fits the previous description, and after about 10 straight minutes of discussing the grey, wet tiles, I lifted his cheek to find a clean bowl. He was stalling or pretending to have to go the entire time! Maybe he really did have to go, but froze up faced with such ambiance. At any rate, I was faced with the reality that we would probably have to stop again at another equally glamorous venue within the next hour so that he could take care of business. Ugh!! Not to be too graphic, but whenever I go, it seems my face is directly in a trash can, fake plant that is being used as an ash tray (um, gross to those of you who are so relaxed as to have a cig while on that gas station potty), or if it happens to be a port-a-potty, in a urinal. So as you can imagine, I prefer to hold number 2 until we reach a more suitable location, but I am suspicious that the younger member of our family actually is intrigued by the novelty of it all.