When your daily activities are in concert with your highest priorities, you have a credible claim to inner peace. – Hyrum Smith


5/8/10

It's all fun and games...

Until someone poops the tub! It was bound to happen. Since we've had children for 3 years and no previous incidents, I suppose I was lulled into a false sense of security. It was one of those things that happened to other people. The kind of story you hear about, chuckle, and thank your lucky stars your kids haven't done it...yet.

It was a lovely morning. I was on top of my game. Going to bathe the kids, go the gym, meet dad for lunch, do some laundry. You name it, I had it covered today.

Bath time was drawing near an end. With the kids splashing happily, I stepped through the door to retrieve the towels from the linen closet in the adjoining section of our master bath.

When I came back in, I smiled down on my adorable, giggling little darlings, surrounded by bubbles, toys, and...what was that? Oh no. No. Not that!

Panic began to set in. "Who pooped?" I shrieked.
Parker's eyes widened in horror. "Not me!" Then seeing it, he pointed. "Mommy, why did Maddie poop in the tub?"

What do I do? The logistics of getting and keeping everyone and everything uncontaminated rushed through my brain.

1. Fish out the poo. With what??? I can't leave the kids in the tub while I run and get a strainer.
As I lifted out the offending pieces with my hands, I was shouting, "This is not in my job description! When did this become part of my job description? This isn't fair!" I basically had a 10 year old temper tantrum.

2. Drain the tub. Parker was shouting, "What about those pieces?!" as little bits floated past.

3. Wash the kids using shower head. As if ending their playful, peaceful bath with my rant about the unfairness of maternal duties wasn't traumatizing enough, now they were each standing, cold, being showered...horror of horrors. These kids hate having water poured on their heads, much less a steady stream of water. Too bad!

4. Dry the kids, get out, and lock the door.

Sanitation would have to come later. At the moment, I just wanted to scrub my hands until they bled.

So what did I learn from this little experience? Don't ever say it won't happen to you. And always be prepared. (If you visit our home and notice a strainer in the linen closet, you'll know why it's there.)

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