Yes, Virigina, there is such thing as too much oat bran.
Here’s a little story about how I nearly changed my name from Pesky Pippi to Poopy Pippi. If you can’t handle poop talk, better not read on.
It all started out with an innocent batch of cookies. I made Oatmeal-Coconut Chocolate Chip Cookies. And I swapped out all of the flour with oat bran.
Note: Raw coconut and oat bran both are packed with fiber and increase metabolism. A powerful combination.
It was a gorgeous batch of cookies. Chewy. Tasty. Hot out of the oven.
four. I ate seven. OK, I ate nine.
Then it was time to take my daughter to soccer practice. While she practiced, my seven-year-old son and I played on the play structure at the park. Everything was going just swimmingly. We were climbing, jumping, swinging. Just another day at the park.
Then it hit. The oat bran fiber bomb was about to explode.
You know that feeling when you have to poop and there is no toilet nearby? Yeah that. And you start to sweat. And clench. And take baby steps. Fast baby steps to the car.
You call to your son with panic in your voice, “Honey. We have to go NOW. Mommy has to go poop. And it’s an emergency.”
He says, “I know that feeling.” Yeah, he knows. And you know he knows.
You share a brief moment of understanding. I mean, haven’t we all been there?
By this time, you’re halfway to the car and you think you just can’t make it. Things are percolating.
And you are regretting the multitude of cookies you shoveled into your mouth, one hour before.
But your young son takes your hand and you hold it. And you know you HAVE to hold it in to show that you can do it.
You continue to sweat. You swear you’ll never eat another cookie in your life.
You make it to your car and drive frantically. Squeezing your buns all the way to the nearest grocery store, which is 4 minutes away if you make all the green lights. The grocery store becomes a beacon of light, welcoming you. Because you know from experience that the restrooms are clean and at the front of the store.
And you get there and the women’s restroom door is open because a guy is in there cleaning it. “Sorry, Ma’am, this restroom is closed.”
You give him the most helpless look. You feel like the one in Bridesmaids, the one who takes a dump in the sink.
So you stand there. Squeezing. Praying. One minute later he leaves and says, “It’s all yours.” And you want to high-five him, but you’re worried that too much movement will jiggle something loose.
Whew. You make it. And you breath a sigh of relief.
Your son peeks in, curious and eager, “Is everything OK Mom?”
“Yes, everything is OK,” you smile. A big, toothy smile, “Even Mommies nearly poop their pants.”
And he smiles. And understands.
Who knew that a poop emergency could be a life lesson in empathy?