Fastest two minutes in potty training?

By LESLEA HARMON
THE EVENING NEWS AND THE TRIBUNE (JEFFERSONVILLE, Ind.)

JEFFERSONVILLE, Ind. April 24, 2008 11:16 am

— Around here, everyone’s getting ready for the Kentucky Derby. It won’t be long until the first Saturday in May, and the Fastest Two Minutes in Sports. Along with the bright pink tulips and yellow daffodils popping up, we’ve got signs for “get your Derby hat here,” or “Derby party supplies.” Come Derby Day, anyone with a heart will be huddled around a television set at a family potluck, sipping mint juleps with friends, or lying lazily on the couch, dabbing away tears for the memories of Barbaro, Secretariat, and the like.
I did say anyone with a heart.
Call me a Derby Grinch, but I guess I’m sort of heartless when it comes to the race. Cold and ruthless, the Harmon clan has schemed for the past few years to get the heck out of Dodge over Derby weekend. It’s not that we hate Derby — I, for one, love it — but the truth is, it’s like a steeplechase trying to enjoy the festivities with young kids.
Sure, there are plenty of family-friendly events, and hopefully we’ll get to go to some of them, but the nature of big events — the most popular stuff — makes navigation difficult for a spirited passel of boys. And I don’t want to get a babysitter. Honestly, that’s not a solution. I want to expose my kids to the fun, without losing them in the crowd or frustrating them with the stress of working hard. It’s not supposed to be work-it’s supposed to be fun.
By the same token, I’m starting to wonder if by trying to keep our festival experiences manageable, we’ve been missing out. Trace Adkins assures me via his country music video “You’re Gonna Miss This,” that I’m going to miss the kids’ tempers someday. I wonder if he’s right.
We’ve skipped Thunder Over Louisville since our oldest was a babe, when he lay screaming in terror of the sonic boom the fireworks produce. Now that the boys are a little bigger than that, would they enjoy the air show? They do love watching planes, on an everyday basis. Thunder’s a long day, though. Do I pack up a tent, get there early and stake out a spot? Is that even legal? Do I bring my own TP for the torture known as the Port-a-Pots? If we left before the fireworks show, that might save the kids some torture, but it seems, well, anti-climactic.
I’m no priss, but any event that requires the use of a Port-a-pot is not high on my list of to-dos. I can barely stomach the pungent claustrophobic torture of the bathrooms at home-bringing my kids inside of those portable water closets is a nightmare I’ve lived through many times.
“Don’t. Touch. Anything,” I instruct. My four year-old takes a step inside, and the whole blue thing rocks to the right — he reaches left to steady himself. “That’s the urinal!” I shriek. He smiles and wipes his hand on his pants. I promise myself I will bathe my kid in sanitizer as soon we get out of there. He needs to be lifted up to get his aim-and the bottom of his shoes are probably going to graze my pants. I try not to gag.
All-in-all, we’re in and out of the place in less time than it took Giacomo to prance into the Winner’s Circle, but it’s not something I want to do again. With little kids, though, is there any way around it? And what about diaper changes? Sure, the human body is a beautiful thing, but I’m not keen on exposing my nude child to a crowd of beer-swilling rowdies. It just makes me uncomfortable.
“You’re gonna miss this,” I remind myself, as I reach into the diaper bag and pull out what I thought were wipes — only to find Clorox cleaning cloths. Stuff like this happens all the time. If I think I’ve packed enough wipes for the day, I’ve packed one too few. If I pack too much, I forget and leave it by the front door and we’re parked before I realize.
Honestly, I want to take my kids to the events. I really do! I’m trying to gauge their interest in things, in order to hedge our bets, but so far they haven’t shown any interest in seeing even hot air balloons first-hand. They’d rather watch them hang in the sky from far, far away, like the Christmas ornaments they were forbidden to touch. Getting close to the hulking masses and their fiery propulsion units scares the kids.
I don’t wish the boys to grow up early. I love their sweet hearts just as they are — but where are all those types from the Adkins video crooning “they don’t bother me, I got two babies of my own — one’s 36, one’s 23”? We once waited in line for a free balloon ride, and adults were cutting in line in front of my son. By the time we finally got to the front, my child was frustrated and chickening out. And that was a foggy, wet morning when the event wasn’t crowded. I’m more than happy to share the event with childless adults, but I wish the adults in question felt the same way. You know, neighborly.
I don’t want there to be two Derbies: one for my husband and me, one for our whole family. I don’t want to wait until the kids are older to enjoy all the cool stuff taking place this time of year in our community. I also truly don’t want to visit Port-a-Pots. I guess until we find a happy medium, Adkins is right. We’re gonna miss this, one way or another.

Leslea M. Harmon writes for The Tribune in New Albany, Ind. She can be reached at lmharmon.com.