A Mom (and Three Sons) Walked into a Sporting Goods Store…

Also known as that one time mom-life took a grossly comic turn.

Contrary to what you might expect, this isn’t the start of a bad dad joke, but the telling of an actual event in my actual life as a (sometimes clueless) baseball mom of three boys, ages 10, 8 and 3.

My oldest son needed a pair of gray baseball pants to match his new all star jersey for a game to be played the following evening (a conundrum I still don’t fully understand, because all baseball pants end up the red-brown color of dirt after one go around the bases…but whatever). Since my husband had a terrible day at work, being legitimately injured by a Weimaraner bite to the leg, I volunteered to take all three boys to the local sporting goods store in the morning to get Oldest his pants. 

With his current pair of baseball pants in tow, and instructions to select the EXACT same in gray, we pulled up to find a tent sale in the parking lot. Hoping beyond hope there might be sale priced pants inside, we stopped there first.

That was strike one.

We didn’t find baseball pants but we DID find rows and rows of cleats. Intending to impress my husband and also save money on footwear I KNEW we would be purchasing next season, my boys and I scoured the tables for their size…except I didn’t exactly know what size they were, or what we had at home, or how to size them a year in advance. Luckily, Grandma answered her phone and was able to let herself into my house to relay the current inventory and deliberate the probable growth of my boys’ feet over the next twelve months.  

I don’t know how long we spent at the tent sale, but after looking through every box, finally found a pair of 3.5 Y cleats for Middle Kid to use. He didn’t like how they looked, and he didn’t like how they fit, but for $13 I would not be deterred. I shushed away his concern and celebrated our discovery with the kind of pride that only comes from saving $27 I didn’t know I’d have to spend.

Still in search of gray baseball pants, we entered the store. Middle Kid informed me he had to go pee. Employee #1 told us the men’s restroom was under construction, but since he had to go too, we followed him through the store, up the escalator, past the women’s sportswear, through the sandals, next to the Kayaks, to the women’s turned unisex restroom. Little One and I waited outside while Middle Kid and Oldest took care of business.

Back past the Kayaks, through the sandals, past the women’s sportswear, down the escalator, and returning to the front of the store, Little One informed me JUST as we started to round the corner toward baseball pants that he had to go pee now too. My sanity was slowly starting to unravel, but back to the far reaches of the store where the restrooms lived, we went.

This was my first time in this public restroom and I was unimpressed. I immediately noted that the floor was wet and while my germ radar was on high alert, I soothed myself with the thought that SURELY they must have just cleaned. 

I did not have the travel potty seat Little One needed to use in order to go (because why would I bring THAT on such a QUICK trip to the store?) so I pulled his pants down to his ankles and hoisted him Superman-style over the toilet. Balancing him on my arms at both shoulders and knees, I instructed him to aim … and waited.

That was strike two.

I’m sure you can imagine the commotion we made yelling at each other to “GO!” and, “I CAN’T,” as I held him over the toilet seat, shifting to keep him from peeing on my feet, while trying desperately not to touch the sides of the bowl with my bare legs, AND ALSO TRYING TO SAVE MY ACHING BACK.

I could not see the toilet for the child in front of me, and when the toilet flushed of its own accord (because when do they EVER flush when they are supposed to?), I only knew it was overflowing out of the bowl and onto the floor by the water washing over my sandaled feet.

Any grace and decorum I had once possessed puddled to the floor along with the toilet water. 

I put Little One down, WHO HADN’T EVEN PEED IN THE TOILET, to find him now peeing on himself. I told him to stop and tried to lift him again toward the overflowing toilet, but my feet were soaked and I could not bring myself to walk with him back into the stall. I told him to pee toward the already soiled floor. He wouldn’t. Maybe he couldn’t. But I was done.

I attempted to wash my feet in the sink and turned to see both Middle Kid and Oldest had joined us in the bathroom. I found out later they heard me yelling and decided to help. There was nothing they could do to help, but Oldest locked the bathroom door from the inside anyway. Perhaps to keep the crazies out. Perhaps to keep my crazies in.

 I had three children locked in a public restroom with me, the $13 pair of cleats abandoned on the bench outside, and heaven knows what kind of germs crawling up my legs. AND I STILL HAD NO BASEBALL PANTS.

Sloshing my way out of the restroom, I told the guy working in the men’s restroom about the toilet. He didn’t care. He didn’t “work” here. He was just a carpenter. He told me I should find an employee. 

I was livid.

I squashed angrily to the Kayaks and unsuspecting Employee #2 and Employee #3 to tell them about the restroom. They also didn’t care, so Little One, Middle Kid, and Oldest followed their loudly grumbling momma through the sandals, past the women’s sportswear, down the escalator, to the front of the store, around the corner to the baseball pants, and to Employee #4 for help.

She couldn’t help me, so she called Employee #5. I held up the pants I had in white and told him through clenched teeth I needed these EXACT pants in gray. He waved at the section WE WERE CURRENTLY STANDING IN and told me that here were the baseball pants. 

That was strike three.

Fortunately Husband told Oldest what we needed (and couldn’t use) in detail, and in a miraculous stroke of providence a pair of gray pants were found. By my son. No thanks to ANYONE at the entire sporting goods store. 
I left without thanking anyone, fuming toward the check out. I thought to tell Employee #6 about the bathroom, and actually considered asking for a discount on the pants because of our horrific experience, but decided she also would not care. 

You guys, I cried the entire way home.

After lunch and a shower I was less upset. We had the gray baseball pants in time for Oldest’s game that night and I scored cleats for Middle Kid’s next season. It was a horrible day, but we survived, and it was almost over. 

A few hours later Husband came home from work. The prized cleats were sitting on the table, and I was waiting for my well done. Great job. Atta girl.

Instead, Husband peeked into the box and informed me that the cleats inside my box were FOOTBALL CLEATS.

GAME OVER FOLKS! GO HOME!

Not one child plays football in this house, SO I HAVE TO GO BACK TO THE SPORTING GOODS STORE. 

This time I’ll leave the boys home.

You guys, motherhood will break you sometimes. When it does, cry until the tears won’t come anymore, talk to your momma friends, and then find the funny.

Because laughter is life.