One day last October in the Nashville Airport, I became MomGyver. Yes, I had a little help from Mr. Dyson, but he was merely a cog in my machine.
Near the end of a three-hour layover on our way to California, we decided we better take Max to the bathroom. We had been putting it off, because it is often a fight. (So, really, everything that ensued was our fault.) But I got him to stand up and quickly realized that he was soaked. He NEVER has potty accidents… he holds it like a champ. But he also won’t tell us when he has to go. We were stunned. And we had no extra clothes with us.
So, I took him into the bathroom to at least clean him up, and then plot my next move. I washed him off and rinsed out his underwear with the hopes that I could find a pair of shorts or sweatpants in an airport shop… in THE NEXT 15 MINUTES before we were supposed to board.
Then I saw it. The Dyson hand dryer. If you have never used one of these, hunt one down. It is an amazing piece of engineering. I had used one before, so I knew the power… and that it blows air from two sides. So, in a matter of five minutes, Max had dry underwear. I just stood there with Max, his shirt long enough to cover his parts, and moved his little boxer briefs up and down in the dryer. I even got a couple of “so been there” looks from other women.
OK… he’s covered, but his sweatpants are still wet. And we board in 10 minutes. I delivered him to Cris, and ran to all the nearby stores, but not one had bottoms of any kind. They all had T-shirts and sweatshirts. We can’t possibly be the first family to have this happen! There was a pricy kids’ clothing store, but she only had up to size 4. The lady working there said that there was a Life is Good store, but it was in the next concourse. Ugh! So, I got in line with the Cohen Men feeling slightly defeated. Cris just carried Max on the plane. If anyone noticed, they didn’t even look sideways at us.
We get settled, and right after takeoff, Cris goes to use the restroom, so I asked him to rinse the sweatpants so they won’t smell. Then I realized that the middle seat in front of us was empty. Score! He returned with the wet pants, and I hung them slightly over the seat and aimed all three of our air vents at them… oh, and flipped them half-way through. Damn if we didn’t land in San Diego 3.5 hours later with dry pants. And it’s a good thing, too, because while Max and I waited at the end of the tube for Cris (who was getting the gate-checked stroller), Max channelled the Mayor of San Diego. He said “hi” to literally every person who came off that plane. Even groups of three, he’d shout “hi! hi! hi!” And they all said “hi” back. I so wish I had video of it … it was ridiculously priceless. But I seriously doubt anyone would have thought it was so cute if he’s been standing there sans pants!