About a month and a half ago, I decided to take a carwash with the lil' Shitwits in it. I didn't know how they'd react to it, since it was their first time riding through a carwash (awake, anyway). I was worried that lil' Shitwit #1 would freak out with all the loud swooshing, brushes thumping the car, and water jets pelting the windshield, and have a horrible flashback to a bad car accident we were in last year. (The kid is totally traumatized, and gets all spooked even if I hit a pothole.) I was also afraid that lil' Shitwit #2 would start screaming due to the noise, and then get #1 even more worked up. So I tried to think of the most positive and interesting way to romance the idea of going through the carwash so that the two of them would actually enjoy it.

I knew this wasn't going to be easy since I, myself, would go absolutely insane in the carwash when I was #1's age. I didn't have much hope of getting out of there with two kids not in hysterics. But since the main reason for the wash was to get all the bird shit off, I decided to take the path of honesty and just tell #1 that that's why we were there.

I explained that the birds pooped every time they flew out of their nest, and that Mommy's car was parked right under that tree where the birds live, and that Mommy was tired of looking at white poop all over her blue car. We'd been trying for so long to get #1 to use the potty (with no success at all), so everything we talked about already seemed to be centered on pooping and appropriate places to poop. And now the trip to the carwash also involved poop.

For hours before we were even at the carwash, #1 talked about the poop on the car. "Mommy, why did the birds poop on your car?" "Mommy, do birds use the potty?" "Mommy, why is bird poop white?" "Mommy, I see poopy on my window." "Mommy, can I poop on your car?" "Mommy, I put poop on your window. Look, it's white."

I did my best to answer his questions honestly and factually while keeping the budding scat freak from rearing its ugly head. He was really very well behaved, even if he told the cashier at the grocery check-out that we were headed to the carwash to clean the bird poop off Mommy's car.

So, with confidence, I made my way to the carwash, hoping he'd enjoy the ride.

We arrive at the Golden Nozzle. Naturally there was a line of about six cars waiting to get cleaned. It was kinda warm that day, so I had the windows down a little. #1 sat calmly and quietly in his car seat while #2 slept peacefully. This was going to be a breeze.

Really, I don't know what I was thinking. The car was full of groceries, it was warm out, the line seemed not to move at all, and we were barricaded in so there was no escape.

As if on cue, the baby starts to cry. He's fussing and grunting and I can hear the poop explosion taking place in his diaper even over the din of the carwash machinery and the stereo of the teeny-bopper three cars behind us. The smell makes its way to the front of the car and his screaming escalates. This baby hates having poop in his diaper -- even just a little shart pisses him off. But I can't exactly get out of the car and change him -- the line is finally moving, so I need to be at the wheel.

I try my best to calm him down from the driver's seat -- which, every parent realizes, is totally useless to do, though we try it anyway. The line moves on and we are next in the queue. I'm telling myself to keep calm, lest the kids pick up any anxiety in my voice. #1 is nevertheless still eagerly awaiting the exciting carwash experience.

The track guide lines up with my tires and I remember to the release the parking brake. I feel the thump of the track grabbing the tires -- we're going in!

Just seconds before the first of the flaps prepare to smack my front license plate off the bumper, I hear someone screaming to me. "Hey, lady! Roll up your windows!!" Oh, shit! I completely forgot about that detail.

Okay, let's get something straight. Normally I'm not a ditzy broad. I'm actually a very good driver. But on this day, some details got overlooked, and the windows were one of them. I quickly hit the buttons to get the windows up just as the water began pelting the hood. And then I looked behind me to see how #1 was doing.

He was totally still. Wide-eyed, staring out the window, sucking his thumb so hard I thought he'd lose the nail. #2 was still screaming. My blood pressure started to jump as the whooshing and thumping got more intense and we could no longer see the light of day (#1 was also petrified of the dark). I turned on the dome light to calm him down. He still hadn't moved much.

The stench seeping out of the diaper along with its contents was becoming unbearable, and I was feeling like I'd soon gag. The instant I was thinking I might hurl, #1 began to whimper. "Mommy, I'm scared, I don't like it, turn it off, I want to go home, it's breaking the car, I want Daddy, this place is bad!"

I couldn't say much at that point. I wanted out just as badly as the kids did.

The spooky ride of hell was coming to an end. "Look, here's the sunshine. It's okay. Mommy's car is all clean now. We can go home soon!" I pulled ahead the moment the tires freed from the track, driving up to the vacuums to quickly hit the floor mats and get the hell home. (I figured the vacuums would make the kids just as upset as the rest of the ride, so why not just do the floor mats, too? They're already screaming anyway. What a mean Mommy.)

I finished the mats in record time and hopped back in, opening the windows and breathing a sigh of relief.

Miraculously, both kids stopped bawling. I looked in the rearview mirror at #1. "How did you like the carwash?"

He looked at me with his wide, innocent eyes, and asked me, in a voice so tenderly, "Mommy, where's the bird poop?"

"It's all gone, down the drain. Mommy's car is all clean now."

He blinked, and then, with a straight face, said, "I'm sorry about your car, Mommy, but birds need a place to poop."