Out of the O’s of Babes

Since I don’t intend to grow up to be one of those old women who talks about her bowel habits all the time, I’ll just say three words on the subject:

Riding constipates me.

Just hearing me say the “c” word is enough to make Dearly Beloved recoil in horror.  Picking up after Miss Piggy is already more poop than he wants to know about, so it’s not apt to come up in our conversations.   He prefers to think of his wife as gastronomically pure.

So, enough of that.

Just know that I drove over 600 miles last week and now, every time I read the blogs of the adventurous people who travel frequently  in motor homes, I am filled with wonder.  Really…I wonder.

I had mentioned my riding side effect  in an e-mail to the friends I was meeting in Atlanta and of course they responded immediately with unsolicited advice:

WATER!  I’m sure you don’t drink enough water.

APPLES!  You need to eat apples.


(The last one was from Wild Thing, whose thighs are about the size of my ankles.  What she actually wrote was:  You gotta start eating Activia and grinding flax seed daily – and I promise – you will be saying ‘well hi there, ugly dude” a helluva lot more often!!:):):)  a personal story from a satisfied customer!:):)

Taking everyone’s advice, I hit the road with a cooler of apples, water, and Activia.  I didn’t have flax seed, so took a bottle of fiber pills along.  (What does one use to grind flax seed, anyway?)

I drank the water and ate the Activia.  Although I ate only one of the apples, I’m certain I consumed at least three more in the fabulous Apple Torte with Ginger Ice Cream dessert  I ate one evening at Murphy’s in Virginia Highlands.  Surely that counted.

Apparently not.

One of the delights of my trip, besides spending time with friends, taking knitting lessons, and seeing Katherine Heigl, was that I was able to spend time with daughter Pogo and her family.  In fact, I kept the boys a couple of days while she worked.  The two oldest boys were in school most of the day, so I didn’t get to see them until I met their school bus at 3:15 each afternoon, but the youngest–just days away from his third birthday–was my daily companion.

We went to the Atlanta Botanical Gardens and saw the scarecrows.   Dozens of scarecrows.

Beatles ScarecrowsMommy scarecrow

Whitley at lunch


The second day, I had a knitting class at 1pm.  He’s such a little sweetheart, I knew he’d be fine with me at the yarn shop as long as he

had a goody  bag.  I packed a lunch for him–a hot dog, Goldfish, an apple,  cheese slices, and        water–along with a couple of toys.  Thanks to his angelic behavior, if I ever knit him a pair of                socks, I can now include toes, since that was the purpose of the lesson.

We were closing in on bus time when he announced, “I have to poop.”

This child does not cry wolf.  When he says he needs to use the potty, he delivers.  It was,  however, 3:08. We needed to leave the house in two minutes.

What were my options?   He is a brilliant child.  He can do puzzles,  dance with the dog,  pour his own juice, and dress himself.  What he will not do is hurry.

He insisted that he situate the potty seat on the toilet by himself.  My job was to give him a lift onto the throne, at which point he instructed me to close the bathroom door.  When I pushed it shut,  he clarified, “No.  You go outside and close the door.”

I obeyed, knowing that my protests would simply use valuable minutes, but I paced as nervously as an expectant father outside the door as I waited for delivery.   I checked my watch.  We were going to have to sprint to the bus stop.

Finally he put out the call for toilet tissue.

Once the job was finished and hands washed, he announced proudly, “That was a big one!”


Was it the apple? Goldfish?  Water?

On the way to the bus stop, he took my hand and looked up at me.  “Sometimes I call you Mary,”  he told me with a smile.

“Yes, we’re pals,” I assured him.

Too bad we had to hurry.  I’d have asked my pal for some gastro-intestinal advice.

birthday legs 005

9 thoughts on “Out of the O’s of Babes

  1. I should comment on this subject anonymously- but- (or should that be butt) I get constipated while travelling, too. I didn’t attribute it to riding in the car, though. I thought it might be a response to the stress of travelling or just being away from the home toilet. Whatever. But just like a BOY to measure up the size of his poop!

  2. cw

    Grind those suckers (flax seed) in your coffee grinder! Just say ‘road trip’ and my system went into clamp down and don’t deliver mode! Until…….. :):) Wild Thing knows of what she speaks!!! LOLOLOLOL……. That little pooper grandson of yours is one big POOT! oooo I MEAN HOOT!!:):)

  3. So, how was Murphy’s? We pass it all the time and have heard good things…but we’ve never been.

    I had no idea there were scarecrows at the Botanical Gardens…and I LIVE in metro Atlanta. That’s sad.

  4. texastrailerparktrash

    If there’s one thing my 90 year old mother is supremely proud of, it’s her “fluffy” bowel movements. (Always unsolicted reports, by the way.)

    My maternal grandfather’s cure for constipation was just looking at the label on the bottle of Milk of Magnesia he kept in the bathroom. Worked like a charm.

    Or, you could could try a cocktail of that plus vodka and orange juice—the “Milk of Magnesia Pile Driver.”

  5. hee hee…I get that when I travel outside of the Motorhome..but having our own toilet nearby..no prob. My sickstas and I go into great detail about our bowel movements..which I will not go into detail here…but..just let me say…I am very regular and proud of my banana shapes.

    I think your grandson might teach you a thing or two about POOps.

  6. renovatingrita

    Just returned from our motorhome trip and glad of it. Even carrying my own toilet doesn’t help my shy bowels. I contribute it to the disruption of my usual routine or perhaps cuz my feet don’t reach the floor. Something your grandson must have to deal with. I find it hysterical that this topic has:
    1- been so timely
    2- received so much discussion
    Must be the anonymity of a blog. heehee
    With 3 grandsons of my own, I laugh at “potty” humor and am proud of it. Your little guy sounds delightful!

    BTW purists probably wouldn’t but I buy my flax seed ground. It is typically with wheat bran, cornmeal and such in the baking isle of the grocery. Sometimes found with the cereals next to wheat germ. I choose it for the omegas but the fiber is a bonus.

    Happy Belated BD to DB!

  7. steffiw

    mary,please enlighten/educate me,what is a goldfish?here it is a small gold fish,much loved family PET-i guess the clues in the name,however you mention it alongside lunch items…surely not girlfriend!!love steffi

  8. Pingback: They Don’t Eat Goldfish in Ireland? « Merrilymarylee's Weblog

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