I used to have a sense of propriety. Then I had kids. The end.
We were flying back home from the East Coast. This means that we had to fly on an aeroplane with two childrens.
Confession: I sort of like flying with the kids and Jon at the same time and I always find extra reserves of patience and calm, because, in addition to having help, I feel like a rock star every time he looks at me with wide, traumatized eyes and says, "How did you do this by yourself for two deployments?!" I nod, knowingly, and then I acquiesce to share snippets of my vast parenting wisdom. (I am vastly wise about parenting.)
We were in between flights and I think it goes without saying that Jon and I were absolutely exhausted to our very marrow and the children were wired and giddy. Because that is a basic law of physics. Travel causes all energy to exit parental reserves, whereupon it is transferred to their children. The equation looks like this:
Ep = Ek x 0
where Ep= Energy of the parent and Ek= Energy of the kids
Also, this rule applies to every single situation, ever. Not just to travel.
Back to the airport. In between flights in Denver. Jon and I were tired. Nathan had to go to the bathroom, as did I, so I took him with me. He peed, mostly into the toilet, and then it was my turn. While I used the facilities (I told you, I have no shame, so prepare yourselves), Nathan-the-indomitable decided that, since he was finished, it was time to leave. He proceeded to unlock the stall door. I stopped him from my seated position and tried to explain in an inside voice that he needed to wait for a more appropriate time. For instance, when my pants were up.
"Oh. Otay. Mommy, did you poop?" He asked me at the top of his lungs, in order to reach the ears of all 137 persons in the restroom.
I stared back at him, unsurprised, yet mildly alarmed.
"Oh! Otay. Can I see it?" continued my offspring, still yelling.
I said no, so he peered around me and, using his very best diction and highest volume, he hollered, "WOW, Mommy! That's a YOT of POOP!"
Thanks, son. And no, it wasn't a yot of poop. But it doesn't matter what actually occurred, because when we exited the stall, all anyone believed was what they had heard a not-quite-three-year-old announce to them.
And that is why I have no shame. My son stole it, along with my energy, and has been leaving pieces of it lying around the various places we have been. Like the Denver airport.