An Open Letter to my Brain

Dear Brain,

You have got to get bigger! I know that’s a rude way to start but you are just too small lately and it’s beginning to bug me. Please don’t take me literally. My head is big enough as it is. I already have to buy all my hats at Fatheads or Wal-Mart as it is named in the rest of the country. I need you to quickly acquire the knowledge I need to function in my life. I don’t need to perform brain surgery. I just need to not wet my pants.

Quite simply, I need to be able to rely on you to tell me when I should go to the bathroom. That sounds pretty simple to me. Yet there I am leaving my auditions and gathering up Ryan and his stroller and his toys and his video player. All the while I have that very strong tickle in my bladder. For some unknown reason you have relegated this very important bodily function to my subconscious. It would be almost easy to go before I leave my audition. I could just grab Ryan and the key. I am now skilled at dragging the oversized bucket attached to the key behind us. (See “Ryan Peed on Daddy”) I could use the facilities and then be on our merry way to the park. Somehow my bladder is just one thing too many for you to handle.

I know it’s a little overwhelming when Ryan doesn’t let me turn the video player off anymore without a tantrum. I know you get preoccupied when I start to feel like the worst Dad in the World because I’m pushing my kids' stroller down the street and he has his head buried in the videos. You are right, I should just relax because I know that he gets less than a half hour of the boob tube a day. I shouldn’t worry about that lady who sneered and said “Starting him off early are you?”. I submit to you that if my bladder weren’t screaming at me I would not have called her a “PUMKINHEADED BLABBERMOUTH!”. I also submit to you that I know I called her much worse than that, but, this is a family blog.

At this stage of my life I don’t think I should emulate my son when he squeezes himself rather then go to the bathroom. I also don’t think people should look at him squeezing himself and say “AWW, Like Father, Like Son.” I would rather not well up with tears when I watch him finally go in his portable potty in the parking lot. I would rather not bounce around like a jumping bean during the long drive home while Ryan drifts off to sleep in the back.

I feel so dumb when I barely make it home and realize I’ve taught my son better than myself.

So, please Brain, hurry up and get bigger. I have an audition on the opposite side of town tomorrow and I’m afraid I will explode on the drive home.

Love,

SPO