I am a sick red hot momma. Been sick since Friday in fact. I have drug myself from couch to bed to kid activities and then finally the doctor’s office today. But that is not where this post is going…
This morning while taking the puppy outside for a potty break, I began to really feel sorry for myself. My illness combined with the cold outdoor air and the fact that our dog that is a diva who refuses to poop in wet grass came crushing down on me. (Mrs. Red Hot is always susceptible to a pity party when ill) I mean, here I was…sick…outside in the cold…waiting for the dog to poop…without looking her in the eye. Like I said, she is a diva. Poor me!
As I stepped back into the house, the overwhelming scent of poop nearly knocked me down. What on earth was making my house smell like a refugee camp latrine? Three feet outside our bathroom was a pair of pajama bottoms. Followed by a shirt. With poop all over it. The door leading to the repugnant smell stood half open. I broke out in a cold sweat. Whatever lay on the opposite side of the door would scar me forever. I just sensed it. After taking a slow, not so deep breath, I stepped into the bathroom.
When the human mind is faced with a reality that it finds too gruesome to process, images come into consciousness in slow motion. Image 1- Poop covered toilet seat. Empty. Image 2- blue beach towel wrapped around toilet base. Poop splattered. Image 3- formerly white wash cloths. Now zebra striped. Image 4- preschooler. Toilet papered. Poop smeared.
I gasped. Regretting it immediately. I stood in the middle of a what appeared to be a crime scene. Something had gone terribly wrong in this bathroom. I felt as though I would faint, but decided not too. It was impossible to avoid hitting excrement. “Son. What happened?” I said, calmly. “Well…I really don’t know.” he explained. “Something bad.” I had to agree with him.
I wanted to cry. Scream. Rail against the unfairness of being a mom. A parent. But instead I felt a peace settle over me. A peace that could only come from above. I looked at my son. Covered in crap. Standing in the middle of a huge stinking mess. Humiliated. Desperately needing mercy. All because he tried to fix things his own way. I’ve been there.
As I helped him scrub off in the shower, the irony of the situation was not lost on me. How many times has the Father scooped me up, cleansed me, and took care of the mess I had made? Too many to count.
I found myself feeling much less pitiful. In fact, pretty grateful. Realizing just how much I have been forgiven and loved by the Father. Which turned out to come in handy because my three year old came crashing into the bathroom yelling “MOM! The dog just POOPED in my room.”
Red Hot Momma’s don’t let a little crap ruin their days…but a lot of crap can certainly put a damper on it!