I've been making a conscious attempt to avoid McDonald's like the plague. Not just because the food is terrible for someone trying to get rid of some extra baggage, but it's getting expensive. My kids have protested but after a month, they've finally given up knowing that I wasn't going to give in. It's been a really good thing for my family's health and my my pocketbook. But it hurts. It hurts so bad.

Weakness set in today. I smelled the waft of french fries being cooked to delectable goodness. When I turned to fondly gaze upon our local Mickey D's, it's golden arches were seductively waving one shiny finger at me in a "come hither" gesture. Of course I complied. My greasy lover wanted me, needed me, and I fell under his voodoo love spell.

The good thing about McDonald's is that our local one has a nice playground. I don't feel as guilty letting the kids have a Happy Meal if I know they're gonna run part of it off prior to leaving. And since it no longer has a ball pit, I don't have to worry about them finding hypodermic needles, razor blades, vomit, or poisonous snakes.

When I pulled into the parking lot, the kids were so excited that they were chanting and screaming how wonderful their young, voluptuous, porcelain skinned, blue eyed mother was. Of course, I was humble about the whole situation and told them to quiet down and only profess their flattery when we were in the company of other mothers whom needed to be impressed. :-)

When we got to the playground, the kids hungrily ate their burgers and fries and slurped down the ever forbidden soda-pop. Am I the only one that uses this term? I hope not. After eating, they ran off to play with the other little snot-nosed punks (literally, it is the cold season) and proceeded to break glass with their high octave screaming.

Everything was going great until Taterbug came down the slide and marched over to me, obviously embarrassed. I asked her what had her panties in a bunch and after she lectured me for using such a weird phrase, informed me that Gunny had taken over the top portion of the play equipment. He was not allowing any children to utilize the top little playhut and he was yelling at them to, "Get out!" I assured Taterbug that he was probably just playing a game with the other kids and she looked at me sternly and replied:

"Mom, he's poopin'. That's why he won't let anybody up. He told that little girl over there to get out until he's done. I'm so embarrassed and I think I'm gonna puke 'cuz he smells so bad."

I sat there, quietly eating my fries and contemplating how to get him out of his sequestered prison without first causing his "load" to squish up his back and down his legs. Yes, he still wears a diaper, THANK GOD, but he's not a sweet little baby anymore. He poops like a man. I swear on this.

I called to Gunny to come down the slide and see me (as this was unfortunately the only way down) and received no reply. I looked up and could see him through the plastic window in the play area; his little face was red and sweaty and he had a look of determination.

I finally heard a stern little man child's voice say, "No Momma. I poopin'. Yeave me awone."

I gulped my soda and looked around to see if any of the other moms and grandmas had heard Gunny's proclamation. The snickers and smiles answered my question.

"Ok Gun. Just come down when you're done." I said as sweetly as possible.

"Alwight Momma." He grunted his reply. I was obviously ruining his mojo.

A short time later, I heard a couple of shrieks of, "What stinks so bad?!", and Gunny reappeared. None of the kids protested when I told them it was time to go and we quietly loaded into the car. On the way home, we had the sunroof open and all four windows down in a frantic way to ventilate out the smell. It was bad. Very bad.

I guess this will teach me to eat at McDonald's. Geesh.