As most of you may know, I have three very small children, ages 2, 3, and 5. I call them my chipmunks.

My chipmunks are so awesome, they really are. Two of the three were potty trained at a year and a half and the other was trained at two. I pride myself on being the Potty Master, but really, it’s the boys that do most of the work.

But lately, my Theodore has been getting lazy. He’s been potty trained for a year now, but has recently decided that he’s done with that nonsense. He’s forgotten was a toilet is and what’s it’s for, and has insisted on going in his pants.

Well, just the other day I was in a super-cleaning kind of mood, where I was organizing closets and throwing things out. One of the many things that I cleaned out was my purse. Usually it’s a black hole where things go in but don’t ever come out. I found two pairs of (clean) underwear for Theodore (for just in case situations) and a pair of pants.

Thinking that with all the gum, change and trash in my purse, I figured it would be the hygienic thing to do to wash the clothes. Plus, I’ve never had to use the extra clothes in public. He’s ALWAYS told me he needed to go.

Well…

Today I thought I would do just a little couponing (because I don’t usually shop with all three kids in tow; I’ll go while Alvin and Simon are in school) and trek over to the library to pick up the third season of The Big Bang Theory.

The store went well (saved like 15 bucks) and the kids had actually been calm and well-behaved. We walk into the library (me toting about fifty pounds of books and movies to return, trying to hold onto Theodore’s and Alvin’s hands because they cannot be trusted to cross the street) and I smell something.

Oh, crap. (Literally.)

I dump the books and movies in the return slot and herd the children to the bathroom where I find…well, a mess. Everywhere. And I didn’t bring even wipes, much less extra clothes. I mean, really. He’s NEVER had an accident in public. In the car on a long drive, sometimes he wets himself. But even when we travel from here to Rifle (five hours), he’ll hold it. But I would have never guessed that in the forty-five minutes we were gone that he could make such a mess.

What was a mother to do?  Let’s just say that most of it was cleaned up and something was thrown away, and so the poor two-year old had to go commando so his mom could get her movie series.

Stuff like this was NOT in the parenting manual I received. Oh, wait. There is no such thing. Somebody should really get on rectifying that. There should be a quiz and an application for such a big decision.