Water outside. Go see water outside puh-leeeez.

I am participating in Writing program assessment this week. For those of you unfamiliar with this, it means that I am in a room with about fifteen colleagues, and we all read freshman essays and rate the essay in five different categories (ethos, evidence, conventions, analysis, and structure) on a scale of four options (scant, minimal, moderate, or substantial). It is tedious work, but I'm being payed decently for it (a new philosophy in the English department - to pay decently). Anyway, my days this week have been very long and filled with lots of people like me overanalyzing everything. It can drain the intelligence out of your brain. By the time I make it home, I'm spent.

Tuesday Andy's brother invites us to Steve Bashear's (victory) election party. I get home, rush into the shower, rush into a dress, and rush into the car so we could rush to Frankfort. On our walk into the Holiday Inn there is a large fountain decorating the center courtyard. Turner is immediately in love.

"Play in water. Play in water." We explain that the water is to look at, it is for decoration not refreshment or play. He seems temporarily satisfied with this and we move on into the hotel to seek out PK.

We are standing in a very large room full of people shifting in their shoes and downing drinks and desserts. Everyone is anxious and anticipating a presence that won't happen until the end of the night. Photographers are snapping pictures; camera people and news anchors are lining the back wall as though ready and willing to attack the moment if it should be necessary. Turner has his photo taken at least a dozen times, though I don't really know if any of them made it anywhere in print. He is satisfied to be sweating next to PK until an image of water flashes behind his eyes and he remembers. In perpetual hopefulness I retrieve a glass of water with a straw. That pacifies him for a bit. Longer, actually, than I figured.

He has to go to the bathroom next. I carry him to the ladies room. I place his little bottom on the freshly wiped toilet seat just as three other ladies come into the bathroom giggling and talking about shaking Steve's hand. Turner's bottom explodes with air (flatulence is the Honey appropriate term, correct?). The girls laugh and Turner yells "Mommy!" with just enough surprise in his voice that I'm embarassed. I follow up with "Say excuse me Turner" but I doubt anyone was convinced. The smirk at the sink later proves my theory. I'm now that girl in the bathroom.

As we walk out of the bathroom, Turner requests to see the water. There is water in the middle of the lobby, a much smaller fountain than the one outside, and I hope that will distract him. We throw in some change and he tries to touch the water from behind the glass/plastic wall. Happily we skip off to visit with Dad and PK. While Andy sneaks off somewhere and PK stands in line at the bar, Turner whispers to me (not like he's trying to whisper but that he is exhausted by hearing no, but he thinks he'll try one more time), "water outside. go see water outside......puh-leeeze." The long pause before the please, the lack of prompting to say the please, and the sweet smile that followed it when he knew I was caving pushed us out of the lobby and into the courtyard to witness the spectacle of the large fountian outside. And, yes, he was able to stay relatively dry, and I imagine all our wishes will soon come true.