Poop.  That’s what I deal with every day.  I used to create graphics and build Web sites.  I used to write and speak fluently in a foreign language.  Now, I deal with poop.  I wish I could even say that I just deal with just one kind of poop.  I have experience with many kinds of poop.  I was sitting in my bathroom cleaning up poop and I decided that I needed a life.  Then I realized that I can’t afford to go out, get a makeover, and get my hair done.  I can’t afford to stick my children in day care and spend some of that quality “me” time that they talk so idealistically about on the View and on Oprah.  I can, however, write a blog to let go of my frustration with cleaning up poop.  So, here I am.

Yesterday actually began like any other day.  I raced my 2 girls (ages 8 and 5 1/2) to school in the morning, barely making it before they started handing out tardies.  I then returned home with my boys (ages 6 months and 3 years).  All seemed good.  My oldest son has been potty trained for a couple of months.  We hadn’t had an accident–not even at night– for a couple of weeks.  Then, that changed.

Have you ever as a mom relaxed for a few minutes, then all of the sudden gotten *that* feeling.  That feeling that life can’t really be this good.  That feeling that I shouldn’t be able to relax for more than 5 minutes at a time.  Something must be wrong.  Well, I had that feeling yesterday.  Then, my 3 year old son Micah came to give me a hug.  Relieved, I went to kiss him on the head.  As my lips planted in his hair, I took a whiff.  It did not smell good.  His hair smelled like poop.

I pulled back and wiped off my lips and asked him, “Did you have an accident.”  He grabbed my hand and lead me up to the “scene” of the accident.  When I walked in the bathroom, the first thing I noticed was that I stepped in poop.  You see, apparently my son started going poop in his pants and ran to the bathroom.  Mid poop stream, he took off his underwear and as he ran across the room, poop dropped across the carpeted portion of my kid’s bathroom floor.  He then had proceeded to smear poop across the toilet as he scooted on the toilet and landed the very last nugget in the toilet.  Then, he must have realized what a mess he made because then he got out some towels and proceeded to rub poop in the carpet in an attempt to clean up.  Sometime during the process he got poop on his hands, and decided to wipe his hands in his hair–the most convenient place to wipe poop off.  Yes, I kissed that very same head.

So, as I began to clean him off and stick him in the bathtub, I decided that I needed to find humor in the situation.  I found comfort in the thought that there must be someone else in the world that has lived this very same experience.  I knew that somewhere else in the world a mom was doing the same thing, poor soul!

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