The Club
So there’s this really exclusive club that I’ve been itching to get into. Call it a mid-life crisis a year or so early. I’ve been wanting to get in since early April and someone close to me figured it out and goes regularly. It’s all I think about. You have to be really short and cute to get in. Everyone’s super artsy. From what I’ve heard they have intense dancing that includes body paint - also frequent food breaks. Sometimes the food is so good, it’s considered cool to smear it on your face and leave it there. But the owner gets uppity about smearing it on anybody else even if consensual and yells “our bodies ourselves” really loud over the music.
I’ve tried just walking up and asking to get into this club. I’ve tried some very honed puppy dog eyes. The answer is always no. My mind is so consumed with break in ideas, that I’ve been slacking on my mom contract PD, which fortifies me against idiotic statements likes “I found the other symbol, Solly!”
I was not at my potty training best last month while preoccupied with this club. My mind drifted to whether or not they lock their windows when all of the sudden, my just turned three year old got that glassy eyed, distant look which means, “I’m about to pee where I’m standing.” Child development folks might say he’s “listening to his body.” But we all know that an invisible alien is momentarily abducting the child’s brain. Isn’t that obvious? The first thing they’d need to know about taking over is how we learn to relieve ourselves because you can’t rule humans unless you have enough bathrooms.
I had placed red cups all over my apartment to catch accidents like this. But due to my club preoccupation I didn’t grab one in time to catch the pee fountain that suddenly sprang forth, so I cupped my hands with a space object bowl that even Viola Spolin herself would have broken her praise rule and applauded me for. The red cup idea is from this woman on youtube who also wrote a book called “Oh Crap Potty Training.” You let your kid go naked for a few days and every time he needs to pee, you grab a cup and catch the pee if they’re not able to get to the toilet in time. It’s only a matter of time before the frats from the parties sue her for monetizing their game.
The weird thing is that half way through his peeing into my hands, I realized I did have a cup within reach. I can’t, to this day, figure out why I couldn’t just stop catching pee for half a second and grab that cup. Maybe it has something to do with my weird flight, fight or freeze response. I’ve learned that with one exception (see footnote), I’m a freezer. I sure wish I was cool enough to be a fighter or endurance flighter. I freeze with deep terror at stuff like blood from an unknown source, car accidents or the sight of a farmers market. Where others see organic nourishing food, I see debilitating physical food prep.
Lately, my connection to the regular attender has led to some codependent behavior on my part. I can’t go in, yet I’ll pick him up from the club ALL THE TIME.
One time recently, I arrived earlier than planned to pick him up. To keep my mind preoccupied instead of running in the doors and getting bounced out, I created the following game show in my mind because I’ve been watching a one year old as well as a lot of Monk lately.
“Monk OR Parent of a 1 Year old!”
Reshelves the same books every night
Picks stuff off carpet 24/7
Constantly lines things up and relines them up and relines them up
Washes hands repeatedly
Checks and rechecks that the stove is turned off and the knives are in their block
Can not mix the red lid with the blue cup or household chaos will ensue
Fear of awkwardness at social events because all you have to say are one liners from the same three shows that play on repeat
I think it’s got a real chance. And of course the twist is that there’s no wrong answer. Obvious, but true.
As I began thinking about how to finance my game show, my connection came happily bounding out of the damn club and I just couldn’t take it anymore. I got out of my car and started marching to the front doors to demand entry, when all the water I’d been drinking hit my bladder at the same time as an idea, and I paused. I would tell the club that Solly (my connection) might be able to transition out of his pull-up diaper at the club (Bubbles Academy Preschool) if I could come in early and help him use the potty! And just like that, access was granted in the name of the club employees not having to change more dirty pull ups. I was given a slot early in the morning before the other dancers and partiers got out of their mother’s minivans.
The day came. I wore my best sweats and t-shirt, hoping to get noticed for my blending of patterns and support of School House Rock which I realized on the way in, might be outdated for anyone whose parents weren’t in the youth theatre world or over 40. I was Anne of Green Gables hopeful that they’d let me stay past helping Solly pee. I’d heard there was going to be a bug dance and cardboard box painting session I longed to dominate.
“Mama is going to come with you to help you go potty today,” I told Solly who was really glad because he always has a hard time saying goodbye in the morning. For the first time EVER I walked past the long haired greeter guy and woman with a buzz cut and cool suite jackets instead of turning around after getting my temperature taken. OH MY GOSH!!! I’M IN! The walls were bright and colorful and Solly led me to his room.
“Hi Mr. Jason,” I said a little too excitedly through my mask.
“Hello!” he said with distanced warmth which was hard to distinguish between natural covid caution and lack of acceptance as a club member.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Solly had his own personalized CUBBY. His name was everywhere on all sorts of art! I quickly felt the pressure to prove myself. As Solly sat on the toilet with no pee coming out I used this window of time and worked the theatre parent angle by telling a story loud enough for all the rooms attached to the Jack and Jill bathroom to hear. I didn’t just retell Finding Nemo like I do most 9 other times a day. I added a new character named Silas and gave them an objective that I knew would cause the audience to really struggle with who the actual antagonist was.
When we emerged from the bathroom, I fully expected Mr. Jason to give me a standing ovation and beg me to tell other Disney spin offs with equally complex characters.
No. He didn’t. He smiled and waved and I knew that meant I had to leave. Unfortunately that’s when I froze. Flight would’ve been much better in this scenario. I couldn’t move. I just stood there smiling and nodding and taking in the paper mache tree and helper jobs chart…
“Mama, don’t go!” Solly whimpered, which launched me out of my frozen state long enough to get my feet moving. If I didn’t get going he’d full on cry soon and my mom contract knowledge did kick in this time (Item # 45, Solly’s needs over Mama’s wants).
“Bye buddy!” I said resisting all the subtext of jealousy my acting training yearned to provide.
I walked past long hair greeter and cool jacket buz cut with an ability to stuff my feelings that gave away I wasn’t three.
Nobody explained to me that when I became a parent and my kid did school and arts that I’d be locked out. I LOVE school and I LOVE arts. Normally my education degree and people skills can get me into any classroom. Except Solly’s. Bubbles Academy is a beautiful place. And they are definitely thwarting my plan to offer chapstick, a wet wipe and strong Aristotelian storytelling on demand to my kid at all times. And this. Is good. Because he needs an exclusive club to grow and be empowered and autonomous without mom hovering.
Well. For now.
FOOTNOTE: In LA I once chased down a van of men who had just stolen my license plate in an LA fitness parking garage. They had to wait in line to exit the complex so there was nowhere for them to go. Not only did I get my plate back, I asked for the nuts too so I could screw it back on right away. Other than this time, I mostly freeze in response to danger. This time was different because I’d just finished the Hamilton soundtrack for the first time while on the elliptical.