There are certain inantimate objects that have been in our lives as a family for a very long time. If they could talk, they could tell so much history - even things that we have forgotten ourselves. For example, the toilets we have frequented over and over again while traveling or visiting our favorite spots. I was reminded of this when I went skiing this week. A walk into the oldest bathroom at Discovery is like a walk down memory lane. I love this old wooden place with the far too tiny stalls to contain all your ski paraphenalia. The walls of that toilet kind of shake up and down when I enter and I think it's because of one time when I was squeezed in there with Jamie. It was during his very early years of skiing. He was always so anxious to keep up with everyone. I think about K or first grade. I reminded him when we got to the ski hill that he should go to the bathroom right away so that he wouldn't have to stop later. In fact, 2 or three times I said I thought he should try because he had the habit of waiting too long. NO, he wanted to get on that mountain!
OK, fine. (Why do Mothers even ask? Just telling and taking is better!)
The first run he wets through everything. Ticket bought, a whole day ahead. I was really frustrated and angry. He and I went to that little stall. I took off my bibs and proceeded to roll up the legs, hike up the suspenders and, of course, remove his wet clothes. Huffing and grumbling and probably mouthing him a lesson on listening to me next time, I just about had him situated for a warm day of skiing when he said, repentantly, "Mom?"
Owley, "What!"
"I'm so glad I'm not an orphan."
Hugs. Moist eyes. (mine.)
Yes, I wonder what other stories that toilet could tell?
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