If you read this, Mom, sorry for the un-ladylikeness of this post.
Rhema has this thing that she does with an open cup of juice or milk. If she’s really thirsty, she’ll carefully take a few sips. And then all of a sudden, she’ll bolt from the table, run for the bathroom as if life depended on it, and dump the contents of her cup into the toilet bowl. Then she’ll calmly return to the table.
It was so insanely busy this past weekend that I couldn’t find time to use the bathroom. (Been there?) Rhema seems to require more than constant supervision lately, and I thought it would be risky to stop and “go potty.” So I just opted to hold it for as long as I could.
By late afternoon, my bladder was ready to betray me. The girls were at the table eating a snack and seemed content.
Ahhh, my chance?!
I ran to the bathroom… and… how do you spell r-e-l-i-e-f?
I realized that I hadn’t sat down all day. I sighed, wishing I could hide in there forever. I lingered, enjoying a moment to myself…
You know what happens next.
The door busts open, scaring me half to death.
Before I can yell or jump, a full cup of cold ricemilk is dumped in my bare lap. My black shirt is splattered with milky drops.
Rhema is startled. She had expected an empty toilet. This was not part of the plan.
We stare at each other for a moment, and then she sprints back into the kitchen, empty cup in hand.