Today was one of those days that felt like transition after transition, interspersed with brief moments of calm. It was probably that Isaac isn't feeling 100 percent yet after a week-long bout with some sort of respiratory virus. And when he's tired, he's edgy. And when he's edgy, he refuses to go to the potty. And when that happens, everything goes sideways.
Today we decided to escape the city and drive about an hour south for a little fresh air. We had lunch at the Palo Alto Creamery, a venerable institution serving burgers and fries to Silicon Valley residents for, well, a very long time. And, voila, refusal to go after. Loud refusal. Attention-grabbing refusal. "Why-don't-we-leave-and-try-later?" refusal.
So, okay, fine, we're trying not to make a tug-of-war out of this. For one thing, it's no fun. For another, it's way too Freudian. So we gave up and took a walk outside, where we passed Waterworks, an incredibly elegant and expensive store selling, what else--incredibly elegant and expensive bathroom fixtures. Isaac nearly yanked my arm off in his excitement, so in we went. We walked past model after gorgeous model of bathrooms that I could spend a lifetime in: huge, cozy ceramic tubs, sculpted sinks, plush towels, gorgeous tile, and yes--the finest in lavatory design.
Immediately it became evident that Isaac thought these floor models were there for his personal use. Luckily, I thought fast. "Isaac, these potties don't really work. They're just, uh, pretend." (As the absurdity of that remark hit me, I realized that it was now inevitable: I was destined to blog about this. How meta is that?) We dashed to the counter and in my most charming harried mother voice, I asked if we could use their facilities. The woman behind the counter glanced at me, glanced down at Isaac, and suggested we try across the street at the Creamery--the very bathroom Isaac had just loudly rejected out of hand.
Isaac looked a bit more urgent now, and yanked me back to the floor models for another try. On the way, we ran into another saleswoman, who asked if we needed any help. "Um yes," I asked, all harried mommy charm again, "Do you happen to have a public restroom?" (Pleading look at child). "Certainly," she said crisply and led us to the back, where, sure enough, there was a sparkling-clean, quiet-yet-understated restroom. Mission accomplished.
On the way out the door, Isaac glanced back into the store window. "Lots of potties!" he exclaimed, grinning at us.