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Expect the Unexpected

A well-stocked daypack is always important when taking your child on family outings, but during the potty training phase, it is critical. When you venture into the world with a toddler in "big kid" underwear, you are working without a net. Part of the trick is to ask frequently if the child needs to "go" ð and the other part is simply to be prepared.

Last weekend we attempted an ambitious expedition to our local amusement park, the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. I checked and double-checked the contents of our backpack; this was no little errand to the grocery store. This was no time to take chances; I packed enough clothing for a cross-country hitchhike.

After the initial giddy dash around the premises and the obligatory series of kiddie rides, it was time to break for lunch. As usual, I had brought a small larder of healthy snacks in a series of pointlessly organized ziplock bags for Emma's systematic rejection. String cheese, carrot sticks, fresh fruit ð no dice, not with that aromatic blast of hot corndog funk settling over the midway.

We hunkered down with our corndogs on a molded plastic lunch table. As Emma began to lose interest, I nagged her to eat up, but she wasn't listening. Just as I started a mini-lecture on the inadvisability of ignoring one's parents, it started. The Big Contingency, for which I had planned so carefully!

It happened fast; there would be no Hail Mary restroom sprint. It's OK, I thought, Homedaddy is prepared, we have spares of everything. Even before she was finished I was smugly congratulating myself on the thoroughness of my preparation.

Only one factor remained unaccounted-for: gravity. Although the bench seemed perfectly level, it was actually sloped by the tiniest fraction of a degree. In my direction.

There is a vulgar yet popular bit of folk wisdom regarding the tendency of solid human waste to flow in a downhill direction. Based on personal field trials, I can now verify that the same is true of the liquid variety. I could almost hear the voice of "Madge" from the old Palmolive commercials: "You're soaking in it."

Too late, I leapt from the bench as if tapped with a cattle prod. My jeans were visibly, embarrassingly soaked. I stood there, bowlegged, in that goofy elbows-up, pelvis-tilted pose that people strike when they get something unpleasant all over themselves. Julia looked at the ground and pinched the bridge of her nose, doing her best not to laugh, which wasn't very good.

For Emma's sake, I masked my envy with phony cheer and changed her into dry clothes. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I could already feel the burning gaze of thousands of passing tourists. "People are staring at me," I whined to Julia.

She shrugged. "Hey, you were framed."

From now on, my Homedaddyà field kit will include spare pants for me ð and a carpenter's level.

I've decided to go public with my version of this story. There's no use trying to cover it up. I have learned that no matter how well prepared you might be, there's always the possibility of a leak.

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© Todd Pinsky 1998-2002. All rights reserved.