My mom and I are walking on Cannon Beach. Scouting for sea glass–poking sea slugs,gently in an effort to see them squirm. We are jumping over little puddles and tide pools when my mom leans down and squeals, “I have to use the bathroom!”

We start walking toward the line of perfect little shore houses, that in winter, seem empty and sad….like the beach typically is in January. It is then we realize we’ve become a bit disoriented and can no longer remember which set of rickety stairs leads us to our barely functional Ford Focus rental. We walk, this way. We walk that way. Up stairs. Back to the beach. Soon we are walking down Highway 101 trying to figure out where, exactly, we parked. I’m taking photos, my mom is feeling a sense of urgency.

We find the street. Spot our car far down beyond the “Dead End” sign.

It’s not the first time my poor mom has wet her pants. The first time I remember, I was perhaps–six. She was washing dishes in front of a window in Wyoming.. She leaned over–in identical fashion as to that moment on the beach–and it happened. I can’t remember if I laughed or if it was funny back then.

But it was funny at the beach.

We were now digging for Kleenex trying to find something to put on the seat. In rare form. Giggling.

We set out…chug, chug, chug…toward what we hoped would be a bathroom. However, it was then we ran upon the estate sale we had been looking for on the way to beach. Mom flips the car around and parks. She gets out the car–stopping me at the door. “Can you see I wet my pants?!”

It wasn’t noticeable whilst she was standing–but I leaned over to inspect her hind-side closer when, just then, she took a step. “Oh! You can see it when you walk.”

Laughter. Laughter to the point of tears. Can’t catch my breath. We are completely oblivious to the gaggle of old women that are gathered in a tiny store, pawning antiques and the like, staring at us as if we are completely mad. And perhaps they are only slightly mistaken..

My mom bought me a charm bracelet that day from the old, bored ladies. I can only imagine when I, myself, am an old lady; digging through my jewelry box. I’ll find that bracelet and laugh to myself about the day my mom wet herself at the beach.

I am lucky. I love my mom.

And not only because she is great entertainment.