This month's Things We Have Learned from Ana will break from its traditional format as the story you are about to read could not possibly be told in one small number. In fact, My-mee could go on and on and on about it, however she has tried to limit herself to letters a through l. Take heed to the moral of this tale because woe to those who should ever find themselves in a similar situation...a. To begin to understand how My-mee quite nearly had a nervous breakdown, you must go back in time to the night before "The Day From H-E-Double Hockey Sticks". The little cherub, fresh from her bath and smelling like baby lotion, began a song in the livingroom. We have documented it on tape, lest anyone think that we exaggerate. The song went something like this: "F*ck My-mee! F*ck Daddy! F*ck kitty! F*ck My-mee, Daddy! F*ck Ana! We thought it was absoutely hysterical at the time, only because we knew she must be mispronouncing some word (we now know it was fork) and because we could not possibly understand what it could portend...
b. Next day. My-mee and Ana set off to a consignment shop to drop off some of Ana's old clothing. Told to come back in 2 hours, My-mee stops into a Quiznos to get a sandwich to-go. Important to know that it was to-go because this was the only reason that My-mee left the diaper bag in the car. Once in the shop, My-mee - surprise! surprise! - needs to use the restroom. Being a one room kind of place, My-mee lets Ana wander around the bathroom while My-mee takes care of things. Since Ana was on the total other side of the bathroom, My-mee set her keys down on the back of the toilet. Uh huh... you, bright reader, see where this is going...
c. As though the sound of the flush was the pistol signaling the start of the race, Chickie flew at lightening speed across the room, snatched the keys up in her little devious paw, and overhanded them into the potty. To this day, My-mee gets flashbacks in slow motion. Her hand goes out to stop the keys. Her index finger just brushes the keys as they hurtle to the swirling waters below, flipping them over so that now, not only are they falling, but they are flipping over and over as to assure that they will not be rescued. "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo"
d. Okay. So sandwich is now not to-go.
Thank goodness Quiznos' has an on call plumber so that we are not waiting forever for someone to show up. As it is, My-mee and Ana wait only one hour. In a Quiznos. With other people. And a 2 year old. 30 minutes from nap time.
e. Said on-call-plumber tries a hook. No luck. Dismantles entire toilet. No luck. Goes to the back of the store and looks in the drain trap. No luck. Meanwhile, My-mee is squirming internally as she listens to the adjacent table of elderly-ladies-who-lunch talking about how badly they need to use the restroom and how they shouldn't have had that second cup of coffee that morning.
f. At this point, Scott is called to retrieve the second set of keys from home. This would be the same Scott who took the bus to work that morning. The same Scott that discovered that the bus had just come and that he would have to wait another 30 minutes for the next one. The same Scott that said it would be about 2 hours before he could rescue the rapidly failing My-mee. "At least it can't get any worse..."
g. My-mee and Ana exit the Quiznos, set to get My-mee some retail therapy relief with a shopping session at Big Lots, also in the same shopping center. Their momentum is stalled, however, when Ana grabs onto the back of a bench, starts groaning, and with a flick of her little wrist orders, "Go! Go away, My-mee!" This means only one thing - Chickie is herself using the facilities. For those with good memories, you will recall that the diaper bag is in the car. Locked in the car, as the keys are down the toilet. Okay, so it has just gotten worse.
h. Lo and behold, there is a drugstore across the street. My-mee is saved! She lugs the stinking Chickie into the store and picks out a bag of diapers and some wipes. "At least it can't get any worse..."
i. My-mee takes Ana into the restroom to use the changing table. And so it does. Get worse, that is. No changing table. Fabulous! My-mee locks the door to the store and takes off her jacket, laying it on the floor, and the little one carefully on top. "At least it can't get any worse..."
j. But yet, it does. Pulling down Ana's pants, My-mee wonders to herself, "What is that brown stuff on my jacket?" A little slow on the uptake, My-mee soon discovers that Ana has pooped out her pants - it is all in her leggings, all over My-mee's jacket, all in Ana's onesie, and so on. My-mee spends the next 20 minutes wiping it all up and wiping Ana off, thinking to herself, "At least it can't get any worse..."
k. Inside the cavernous restroom, which affords fabulous voice magnification, and outside which several antsy people are lined up, a little voice begins to warble, "F*ck My-mee! F*ck Daddy! F*ck Kitty!"
l. Leaving the restroom jacket-less, bearing a half dressed child in arm, with head hung low, My-mee vowed to herself that she would never, never, never, ever again say "At least it can't get any worse..."
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