Another Rite of Passage

Back in 11th grade I remember my English teacher Mrs. Wallace talking about trials by fire, rites of passage and other examples of symbolism found in literature. She taught that often times when a character is going through a rite of passage, the author will mention a liquid of some sort or water as part of the experience so that it is almost like a literal baptism.

As parents, there's an abundance of experiences and moments we triumph over, laugh or cry over, learn from, and some times just simply endure. Some experiences bring you to a different level -- The Parental Rites of Passage. It could be the first time you change a poopy explosion which occurred conveniently on a very nice white fabric couch at a neighbor's house, or the first time you are up all night with a sick child, or the first time a child pukes on your face. Each rite brings you to a a different level of appreciation-- for your own parents, and for your children.

After sending Cade to kindergarten this past fall, I found myself sailing pretty calmly through life as a parent and no other significant Rites of Passage. My children play, sleep, eat, talk, and Savvy is quasi-potty-trained. Anything we experience with her, we've already gone through before with Cade. Nothing major going on here.

Until last week.

We spent all day in Salt Lake picking out tile for a bathroom we are renovating. It was a long day-- especially for the kids. We left the house at about 9am and finally left Salt Lake around 5. The ride home took significantly longer than planned due to poor road conditions (by the way-- what is up with the unplowed roads in Utah? Don't they budget for this stuff? ). At about 6:20 Cade started whimpering. He had to go potty. Traffic was moving slow, we were getting closer to home, but it was still going to be at least another 20 minutes, which was too long for him to wait. We didn't know how long it would take to get off at an exit to go to a gas station. Then I had an idea. He's a boy. There was an empty Gatorade bottle at my feet. I thought, why not? Better than pulling over to the side of the road and Cade freezing his tushie off. Literally. Kyle was pretty shocked I initiated the idea.

It didn't seem complicated. Boys have an easier time aiming than little girls do. How hard would it be, especially if I was holding the bottle, for Cade to relieve himself in that little Gatorade bottle?

Well, very hard, it turns out.

Not two milliseconds after Cade pulled down his pants did I find my eyes, nose, and MOUTH (mind you, my mouth was open) dripping with....

echhhh....pee.

Disgusting does not even begin to describe it.

I wanted to throw up. Kyle was laughing. Cade chided me by saying, "Mom, you need to pay more attention."

Well, Mrs. Wallace, I think this one definitely qualifies as a Rite of Passage, wouldn't you agree?