TAKING A PLUNGE FOR YOUR KID

A note from Mike: Despite the inherently gross nature of being a parent, I try not to share the bulk of that with you. I apologize that I cannot say that is true with today's column. I also apologize in advance to my daughter, whose friends in high school will undoubtedly find this 15 years from now, leading to a very difficult senior year.

A lot of the things I do as a father are not things I want to do. Let's face it -- no one wants to change a diaper or wipe a nose or dig pureed carrots out of someone's ear. We do it because we have to. But there are some things I do that, after the fact, I have to ask myself, "Have you lost your mind?"

This happened recently when I stopped off at a gas station with my two kids. My wife was under the weather, and I was trying to help out at home. Being the sensitive, caring guy I am, my idea of helping out with a sick wife is to get the kids out of the house.

So we stopped off to get gas, and in what is now a ritual when we stop for gas, we went inside to buy Cheeto's. I can deal with rising gas prices. If they jack up the price of Cheeto's, I will have to quit driving.

As we were getting ready to leave, my daughter informed me that she really, really, really, really needed to go to the potty. And as anyone with kids knows, when they begin doing the potty dance, it's time to spring into action.

My daughter has gotten to the age where she is aware that there is a difference between boys and girls, the main one being that they have different restrooms. This presents difficulty when I am at, say, a restaurant, and she is pleading with me to enter the women's restroom. Fortunately, this particular gas station was a single-occupant model, so I could send her into the appropriate restroom and stand outside, talking loudly at the door, undoubtedly raising eyebrows to someone who enters the store and sees some guy standing outside the women's room saying, "How's it going in there?"

So we conversed for a while:

ME: How's it going in there?

ALLIE: Is Parker eating my Cheeto's?

After a few minutes of Cheeto monitoring, Allie informed me that my presence was requested. As I have done more often than I have desired over the past year or so, I entered the women's restroom. My daughter told me that she wanted me to see that she could, let's just say, finish the job by herself. Three year olds are very proud of being fully potty functional, and see no reason why the world should not witness the glorious expression of something most sensible people don't want their dog to see.

And about that time, she let out an ear-piercing shriek. "MY BRACELET!!!"

I looked at her, and saw she was staring in disbelief as her bracelet -- which cost a whole two quarters from a gumball machine -- was finding itself in an underwater environment.

I shrugged and said, "Oh, well, we'll get a new one. Let's go."

"But Daddy," she said, her face dropping and tears welling up in her eyes, "that was my FAVORITE bracelet. I NEEEEEEEEEEED it."

She glanced down at the toilet. A tear, as if on cue, rolled down her cheek when she glanced back up at me.

The moment of truth. Do I do one of the more disgusting things I have ever done, or do I do the sensible thing and flush the cheap piece of plastic?

Let's just say that the soap dispenser in that place is now empty, and their hot water usage went up dramatically that day.

I have no idea why I didn't just deal with the brief moments of being upset over a lost plastic trinket. I guess I'm just a sucker.

If I had it to do all over again, I am sure of one thing: I would have never have gone to get gas that day.