My new life mantra

I thought I would blog this...

...to satisfy all of my friends and family who spoke the curse on me. You know the one. The one that says, "Never say never because your kid will do this one day, too."

This blog is for you!

This story didn't start today - it culminated today.

Going back...

James called me Tuesday night (our anniversary) to ask for the phone number to roadside assistance. Great way to start a conversation. Turns out his car was smoking so bad he couldn't see to drive anymore. So he had it towed to the mechanic and used my car the rest of the week. Thus, we are experiencing the one-car family life for the first time in a while. But we can do it!

Also, I've been sickish all week with a cold. That means I have low energy in case you've never had a cold (and kids) before.

We spent Friday and Saturday in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania at a work conference for James. It is always fun to travel and sight-see but it is quite difficult for Abi to not be home for her regular naps. She was so exhausted by yesterday afternoon, she was falling asleep in the Costco cart.

James always has meetings Sunday mornings and usually drives to the church building in his car and Abi and I join him for church in my car. Or he drives back home between meetings and church to pick us up for church that starts at 10AM.

Back to today...

His meetings were going to continue right up to the start of church. No time to come home and get us. So, with Abi and I already super exhausted and us being a one-car family, we all got up early to drive James to church for his meetings that start at 8AM. Then Abi and I drove back home to get ready for church.

I was slow moving getting ready. We laid on the bed for a bit debating getting a nap before I finally decided that was a bad idea. I wasn't even sure whether I should go to church or whether I should stay home and sleep to get better. I thought about texting James a message about how much I need him to help me on mornings like this but I didn't. I decided to be strong instead.

We ate breakfast and then got in the shower. It's always a trick getting a child out of the shower alone when you're both dripping wet, so this time, I decided to get myself dried and dressed first while she played in the shower, and then I would dry and dress her.

So, I get half-dressed - meaning I had a skirt on and couldn't decide on a shirt - and then remember that James had given me jewelry for our anniversary and I should probably wear that but my skirt I had already put on didn't match the jewelry. Or did it?

As I'm comparing the jewelry to my skirt and half-listening to Abi's happy chirps from the bathroom, I get that sinking feeling in my gut.

The feeling that says, "Oh no!" And you don't know why.

And then it hits you. And then you say, "OHHH NOOO!"

It's at this point that I began to pay closer attention to the sounds coming from the bathroom. There are pounds on the shower door, then grunts, then pounds on the shower door again. Then more grunts.

That's when I sprint from my closet to the bathroom realizing how long I'd been already and hoping that my fears were unfounded.


They were totally founded. Firmly founded on solid, poopy ground.

There stood Abi, happy as a clam, poop smeared all over the shower floor and walls, and on her fingers and who knows where else. We won't go there. I refuse to think about that.

By the way, it is now 9:40AM.

I pick her up and carry her downstairs to the bathtub at arm's length - not just because she probably has poop on the bottoms of her feet but because her toenails have not been cut for a while and she currently has little claws on the end of each toe. I proceed to bathe her, scrubbing her super well and fast. At this point, I'm lamenting the whole one-car family deal as I know my backup is not coming home between meetings and church.

But I call him anyway. Because I need to commiserate.

And there's nothing he can do. He's stuck at church, a half-hour walk away. He offers to come home, but that's ridiculous. I'll be done by then. So he offers the only comfort he can think of: You're a strong woman, Heidi.

I know. I have to be. Because literally no one else can take care of this right now. So I have to. It's not a compliment in these situations. Haha!

Well, I got Abi dressed, me dressed and her in her room playing. I gathered my artillery - paper towels, rubber gloves, clorox wipes - and closed the bathroom door so that Abi couldn't come in and stir the toilet with her hands (another new trick she's learned) while I was cleaning the shower.

As I'm cleaning, I hear a peculiar sound that I think I recognize and warning sounds go off in my brain, but I have rubber gloved, poopy hands, so I hurry cleaning as fast as possible and open the bathroom door to check on Abi. That's when I see that she has barreled over the safety gate and is on the landing looking down the stairs.

As I swoop my baby up, I am grateful that I don't have to explain to emergency personnel that my child fell down the stairs while I was cleaning her poop off the shower floor.

I got to church at 10:25AM. I wasn't feeling all that spiritually prepared after my morning olympics, and as people asked me how I was doing, I would answer that I was doing well, but I just kept wondering, "Can they really not tell from my face that I just cleaned up soggy poop? How does it not show that I've had a tough day already and it's not even noon? Somebody please pity me and give me chocolate chip cookies!" Haha! It made me contemplate what everyone else had been through today and wonder if I was treating them kindly and encouragingly.


Well, what does this story have to do with the title of the post? I'll tell you. As I opened the shower door and stared down at my darling angel child standing in filth and realized that I was the one who had to fix that, I thought to myself something that I have started thinking a lot lately...

"You prayed for this... for years!"

And that's exactly right. I prayed for this gorgeous girl and all her messes and mistakes as well as her love and successes. And I am actually glad that I had to pray for this for years because that fact and that mantra are my parenting balm.

In those moments that I'm frustrated with her wiping food all over her face and hair, or didn't catch her in time before she stuck her hand in the toilet, or I find out too late that she's digging in the house plant, or she eats my patriarchal blessing or the bills... in those moments, I remember how much we prayed for her, and my perspective changes. I see her as a blessing and daughter of God that I have been entrusted with raising.

And love enters my heart.

Don't misunderstand. I still get frustrated, but I am also so grateful to be this sweet baby's mother! And that gratitude makes all the difference for me!