By: Jenna Parker
Mondays have an uncanny knack for being particularly challenging. It’s as if the universe conspires to throw every possible inconvenience our way. From chaotic traffic to spilled coffee and unexpected visits to the ER, this day seems to magnify all the mishaps. For parents, Mondays are especially grueling as we attempt to corral our little ones with full bellies, neatly combed hair, and matching socks (if we’re lucky!).
I always had a disdain for Mondays, but this particular one would reinforce my belief that I was due for some serious karmic payback.
7:27 AM:
I wake up in a panic, realizing I didn’t set an alarm. Since my youngest was born, I have opted for the natural wake-up method, which consists of being jolted awake by sporadic toddler cries for water or cuddles. Of course, on this day, both kids decided to sleep in, leaving me with a mere 18 minutes to prepare for departure.
7:55 AM:
We’re late. My eldest is throwing a fit over the shirt and capri pants I picked out from the laundry heap. “Fine! Wear your superhero pajamas!” I decide to tell his teacher that we were celebrating ‘Superhero Day’ at home, hoping to save face. I rush through lunch prep, cram the gym bag, and drag my daughter away from her cereal, which produces tears. The chaos continues as I realize I have eight princess shoes but not a single matching pair.
After wrestling the kids into their car seats, I realize we’re running out of time.
8:15 AM:
I dash back into the house for the forgotten sippy cup.
8:17 AM:
I sprint back again for the all-important composition book and my baby’s favorite blanket—essential for any potential fuss.
8:50 AM:
We arrive at school, a mere 20 minutes late. The weight of shame hangs over me as I encounter other parents. “Jenna! My daughter adores your ballet class!” they say, further fueling my embarrassment. After check-in, I send my eldest into his bilingual classroom while I feel a momentary sense of relief.
Then, disaster strikes.
My stomach has been churning since breakfast, and I can no longer ignore it. The bathroom, a place I’ve previously monitored during my ballet lessons, suddenly feels like a ticking time bomb. I rush my daughter into the bathroom, strategically choosing the last stall.
Note: As a mom, you learn to do everything quickly—eating, drinking, even bathroom breaks.
Business taken care of, I flush the toilet. Nothing. Panic sets in as I realize the water tank is empty. Just as I hear a class lining up for “potty time,” I frantically check the tank. My engineering skills are nonexistent, and I kick myself for not paying attention in physics class.
My daughter, meanwhile, is crawling under stall doors, blissfully unaware of my turmoil. I can’t bear the thought of the mess I might leave behind. I scoop her up and head for the exit, only to run into the school director, Mark. My heart sinks.
“Is there a problem with the last toilet?” I ask, trying to keep it casual.
“Oh yes, it’s broken. There’s a sign,” he responds cheerfully.
“No, there is NOT,” I insist.
“Don’t worry! I’ll take care of it,” he assures me, blissfully unaware of the real situation. Faced with a moral dilemma, I blurt out, “I used that toilet.” His expression shifts to horror as he realizes the gravity of the situation.
I make my exit, humiliated and stunned. After calling my support crew—my mom, sister, and husband (in that order of assumed sympathy)—I brace myself for the walk of shame during pick-up.
12:45 PM:
I discover there’s a designated adult bathroom, which feels like salt in the wound.
In the end, it’s a reminder that parenting can be messy—literally and figuratively. For more insights on navigating parenthood and fertility, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary
The author recounts a harrowing morning filled with chaos and a catastrophic bathroom mishap at her children’s preschool. From late departures to a broken toilet, the tale humorously highlights the unpredictable challenges of parenting.