Moms don't poop

Since it's Mother's Day and I'm a mom, I have taken today off (okay I know I've been off since January) but this article celebrating  motherhood came my way today from one of my favorite authors and I had to share it- thus jump starting into more faithful blogging.
Enjoy!  And thank you Seth,  for this window into a mother's real life.

I had the opportunity to watch my kids for the day this week and it came with a startling realization: Moms don't poop.  As the father of five and the oldest of a large family, I am no stranger to the challenges of motherhood; but today I had a rare insight into the daily dilemmas faced by these amazing women.

The day started out easily enough. My wife was going shopping for the day, no big deal. I've done this lots of times. Today she was going to be gone slightly longer, but it's nothing I can't handle. Breakfast, school, a couple of errands, maybe a trip to the park. No problem. Or so I thought.

First off, breakfast; somehow by the time I fixed my own breakfast, the kids had already finished theirs. I sent the kids to get their clothes on, bolted down two bites, and turned around to see what interesting clothes they came up with today. As Lindsay isn't around to give them wardrobe advice, they get me. "Umm, that looks ok. Probably. We'll just make sure you get changed before we go to the park, or at least before Mommy gets home.  Go brush your teeth."

Two more bites of cereal in and I notice that the water has been running on the bathroom for an inordinate amount of time. More ominously, things are quiet.   I open the door to find three children trying to go swimming in one small, overflowing sink.   New clothes, closely supervised tooth brushing, and two more bites of soggy cereal later, it's time for school.

As we begin stumbling through the alphabet, I am filled with a profound respect for one room school teachers. I also get my first premonition of what my body had planned for the morning. Now I look forward to the momentary peace and quiet of the bathroom. There is a reason it's called the rest room. In addition to the elimination of certain by-products, it affords a certain clarity to the day, a chance to ponder the mysteries of life, maybe even an opportunity for some light reading.   I could already tell this was not going to happen today.

I resist the urge and continue with school. Soon Andrea is screaming that she wants to play, Houston is speaking a language only known to baby dinosaurs, Jackson is weeping at the horrors of math, and Maggie is carefully dripping milk leftover from breakfast onto as many papers as she can find.

Finally, school is going smoothly. The urge resurfaces, and it seems like I might have a chance. Suddenly, Noel makes her wishes known. She's sweet, but I know the countdown has begun. I have 5 minutes to get the milk defrosted without a microwave, or I will have to face her wrath. Forget "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."  Hell truly has no fury like a hangry (hungry + angry) baby.

Crisis averted. Noel is eating happily, but the kids have been slowly disappearing from their school work. The urge returns, more insistent. I push it aside as a blood curdling scream erupts in my ear: "I'M HUNGRY! WHERE'S LUNCH!!!"  I duck as a full grown andreasaurus lunges for me.   Dodging snarling teeth I quickly throw lunch at the monster to turn her back into a three year old little girl.

Lunch is underway, the children are quiet.  My bowels nudge me with increased insistence.  Perfect timing, I actually have a minute to. . .nevermind.  I glance at the clock and realize that I have 10 minutes to make everyone finish lunch, clean up, and get in the car so we can get to the boys’ appointment.  With an expert combination of encouraging, appealing, cajoling, and just a hint of threatening, I manage to corral most of the kids in the car to start putting on their seat belts.  I run back in the house, grab the baby, make sure the diaper bag is packed, and double check to make sure that no child gets left behind.  On returning to the car, one child has buckled up, the other two are playing hide and seek in the garbage under the seats, and the third is busy collecting all the loose change she can find.

Finally, I’m off to the boys’ speech class.  It’s so much easier to drop them off without three extra kids, but I press on.  We pile out of the van, and walk to the school.  I am holding what feels like a 300 lb baby who seems deeply interested in eating things on the ground.  As I try to resist her gravitational pull, we stagger into the school.  Someone comment that I “have my hands full.”  Ah yes, thank you for noticing.  I was wondering what was going on with my hands.  I walk by the bathroom and look longingly at it.  But at this point, I know what my body is commanding is little more than a dream.

With the boys dropped off with their teacher, it’s time for the park.  As we get out of the van once more, I reach for the diaper bag.  It’s not here.  I search the van with a sinking feeling and no luck.  The park somehow seems like a much more daunting task without the diaper bag.  Nothing stands between me and certain doom.  I am acutely aware of the diaper of Damocles hanging over my head.  Trying to stave off disaster I search the park for a restroom.  Finally I find one. 

With Noel balanced precariously off one hip, I pull the other unwilling girls to the bathroom.  No family restrooms here, but the park is empty so we at least have the men’s room to ourselves.  I instruct Andrea to use one toilet while I help Maggie with the other.  I help Maggie to perch precariously on the seat; she clutches my left arm to keep from falling into the toilet, while my right arm is trying desperately to hold onto Noel who is trying desperately to fall into the toilet.  All the while Andrea is updating me on how disgusting this bathroom and how she cannot be possibly expected to use such facilities.  With a sigh I go to help her, and Maggie takes this as a signal that she is supposed to go play in the urinal.  I pull her out and begin washing her hands, and by that time, Andrea has also decided that dabbling in the urinal seems like a good idea.

Soap, water, and a headache later I bid the bathroom farewell and try not to think about my unfinished business that is becoming more threatening in its rumblings.  It’s time to pick up the boys from speech.  We pile back into the car, pile almost immediately back out, and head into the school to pick up the boys. After getting the boys and a stop by the drinking fountain it’s back to the park.  After unloading the kids yet again, I sit on the park swing watching the kids running around the park.  I know Noel will want to eat soon, but I forgot her bottle with the diaper bag, so our time is limited.  Finally she can wait no longer.  We had back to the car.  I call Houston to come as I begin loading the kids into the van.  When I turn around, there is Houston being held by a panicked looking woman.  His knee is bleeding profusely where he knocked of a scab.  Thanking the woman, I eventually calm him down with van-side first aid and promises of Star Wars Band-Aids. 

Home at last.  Everyone gets a cool pop while I feed the baby.  This reminds me that I still really have to poop, but there is no opportunity in sight.  After changing Noel and laying her down for a nap, I hear the long awaited sounds of Lindsay’s return.  As she walks in the door, I kiss her quickly, and make for the bathroom before it’s too late.

And so it was that I gained an even deeper insight into the sacrifices made by moms everywhere.  Beyond the chaos, the inconvenience, the challenges they face, they also sacrifice things that no one even notices until they are gone.  Things like being able to take a simple bathroom break.  So on this day of Mothers, thank you for all you do, and for all you don’t get to do.  We love you.