The Unbearable Likeliness of Pee

We are currently snowed in in the Pacific Northwest.  Seriously snowed in.  Snowed in to the point where the rest of the country, who doesn't normally understand the impact of even a small amount of snow on this area, has absolutely nothing to laugh at any longer.  Snow upon snow upon snow upon ice.  

As luck would have it, I'm cat-sitting for a friend who lives about a mile from me.  When he asked me to do this favor, the leaves were in their all their glorious fall splendor.  The air was slightly warm during the day and crisp at night.  Never did it enter my mind that I would be trekking through a frozen tundra to make sure the kitty was fed and her litter clean.  So, kitty lover and excellent friend that I am, I walked to his condo to keep her world stable.

I started my journey yesterday on a brilliant, sunny, cold late morning.  I was layered up and looking especially awesome in my red hat and sunglasses.  I had Van Morrison playing in my ears, and I was ready to just enjoy the journey.  I quite forgot that the snow upon which I was walking was thinly veiling a sheet of ice, and while my boots were made for walking, they also proved adept at slipping unexpectedly.  One moment I was queen of my world, and the next, I was sprawled on the pavement with, you guessed it, pee in my pants.  Not eager to be the cause of yellow snow, I got up as quickly and awkwardly as possible, brushed myself off, laughed to the sweet elderly couple walking behind me who, incidentally, were incredible snow trekkers, and went limping on my way.  

As my newly wet crotch area began to freeze, I couldn't help but think back wistfully to the times in my life when I didn't pee myself.  I was stunned, upon slow, deliberate pondering, that this was a relatively short window of time.  I was taken back to my time in the juvenile delinquent home at the tender age of 4 and an incident that happened there that is burned on my brain forever. 

Yes, you read that correctly.  I used to live in a juvenile delinquent home.  At the time I didn't realize that my parents were out of work and this was a way to make ends meet.  All I knew is that I got to live in this cool, old house with these older boys who had to stand in the corner if they didn't eat their peas.  I did my fair share of corner standing, too.  It's all good.  I now eat my peas.  Strange that peas came to mind in a post about pee.  Hm.  

I digress.  These boys were hardened youths with any variety of offenses on their records.  I was a 4-year-old who still wet the bed.  Both kinds of kids were equally frustrating for my poor mother.  Worried that she would be burdened with the task of changing my sheets every night until I graduated high school, Mom decided to try an electric sheet.  It was supposed to sound an alarm when it got wet.  I'm not even sure about the safety of this.  Perhaps my mom was secretly hoping it would shock me as punishment.  The woman was desperate.  No peas and random pee is too much for any woman.  

I had no idea what the alarm would sound like.  I just remember being determined not to fall asleep so that I wouldn't set that sheet off.  But sleep comes to all little ones after a day adventuring with juvenile delinquents and their much cooler toys than mine.  The house was quiet.  The kids were all asleep.  I can imagine my parents settling in after an exhausting day raising two little ones and rehabilitating youths.  Suddenly, the night was split into a thousand shards by a buzzing so loud it's still ringing in my ears.  Up shot my parents.  Up shot my brother.  Up shot the house full of delinquents.  And there I sat, in my puddle of surprise, learning a few new words I was told never to use.  But what's a delinquent to do when awakened by the buzz of an electric sheet, thinking it was the siren for the end of the world, but cuss a little?

That was the only night I spent with the sheet.

Back in present day, I wonder:  is my bladder still skittish from the Great Electric Sheet Debacle of 1982?  Is this why I find myself with wet pants more often than not?  If so, I say, "Well done, Mother.  The joke is definitely on me!"