So I headed off to the potties with the three-year-olds while David handled our impulse buys.
Matthew finished up his restroom needs before Leah, so I helped him wash his hands and directed him to the Dyson hand dryer to entertain himself (it's like skydiving for little hands) while I helped Leah take care of the rather dramatic aftermath of her toilet usage.
Right as I managed to get poop on my hand, Matthew somehow cracked his head on a sink and cut both the back and front of his ear in totally unrelated places (I haven't quite figured out the contortions involved in that one yet...). I knew it was bad because I heard the crack a full 10 seconds before the scream escaped his lips, and yet I could only perform a one-handed comforting because my other hand had poop on it.
"Errr, son, I'm sorry that you appear to have gravely injured yourself, but can you hold on a second while I wash the poop off my hand...?"
Meanwhile, as Matthew continued to scream like he was being burned at the stake, Leah was in the stall with door open and bum in the air... I was waiting for Child Protective Services to walk in and go "We'll be taking those children now, ma'am."
It took awhile, but once everyone was washed and calmed and not actively bleeding, we headed to the car. On the way out of the store Leah looked at the less-than-fit people getting their receipt checked and announced loudly to everyone within a thirty mile radius, "Mommy, those people have BIG tummies!"
Next time it's David's turn to take Matthew and Leah to the potty.