The post office has no bathrooms.
After posting our packages I decided to walk across the street with the boys to the coffee shop to use their bathrooms. This sounded like a better plan than buckling Me Too into his seat and smashing the source of his mysterious odor into his nether-regions or taking a bet on on whether or not Kal-El could hold it. This would have been much easier if all the transitions from sidewalk to road were not buried in waist-high snowbanks. The city apparently decided it was necessary to clear the sidewalks but not the corners.
The bathroom had no changing table so I had to put Me Too's changing pad on the floor (ewww, gross. Touching the floor in a public restroom). While I was doing this Kal-El made an executive decision to remove his snowboots before getting on the toilet. I changed his socks immediately when we got home.
I felt like I had to buy something since we came in to use the restroom so I purchased a mocha latte. Advice: when walking with two small boys, order the small latte and have them put it in the large cup. As I struggled back across the high-traffic, slush-filled road holding a small mittened hand in each of mine and a cup of coffee latte squirted out all over my jeans and diaper tote with each step.
The barista (can a barista be a "he" or should he be a "baristo"? I've never heard anyone say "baristo" but barista doesn't seem right) asked if I wanted whipped cream on that...no, more like whiskey!