Pranked

The water was running in the basement tub, and I was in the process of stripping down a rowdy, bath-eager Joel when I realized he was poopy. Anna, ever my helper, made a run for changing supplies so that I could get him cleaned up before tossing him in the bath with his sisters. As soon as the wipes left his tush, Joel squirmed free and happily plopped in the water. I invited Anna and Kate to hop in with him, but Anna refused to bathe in the same room with the offensive diaper. Although I can’t say I blamed her, I had decided that the diaper’s wrapped-up presence on the tile floor was a lesser evil than leaving Joel unattended in water long enough to run it upstairs to the main trash. Anna--again to my rescue--agreed to haul it upstairs for me. She was back in a flash, and I expressed my gratitude for all her help. Children were scrubbed and jammied and put to bed without issue.

Fast-forward to me sacked out on the couch after having fallen asleep watching the Olympics...or some random SyFy show Brian turned on after the Olympics ended. Whatever. Programming doesn’t matter; the fact that I was practically comatose does.

Managing to rouse myself from the couch, I stumbled into bed where sleep quickly reclaimed me. Throughout the night, I dreamed of poop. I half-awoke a few times agitated by the smell of poop. At one point in the wee hours of the morning, the smell hit me enough to fully wake me, and my tossing woke Brian. “Something smells like poop! Is it YOU?”

Brian denied fault, a brief moment of shuffling and searching ensued, and then I found it: Joel’s very full, very heavy, very poopy diaper. Under my favorite memory-foam, cooling gel pillow. Even in the darkness of our bedroom, I saw red. It would be safe to say that none of the scenarios rolling through my head regarding discipline and Anna at that point would have been Dr. Sears approved. I didn’t storm down to her bedroom in the middle of the night, at least. (Pat on the back for self-restraint, Lace.)

The smell lingered long after the diaper was gone. Brian, being kind to me in spite of my crappy attitude (and crap-scented hair), offered to share his side of the bed so I could sleep away from the heart of the stink. Still grouchy and hot (probably because I was so grouchy), I declined. Somehow, I did fall back to sleep.

I was up before Anna came into our room later that morning, and I was feeling a little more level-headed, figuring I needed to understand her motives and the background of the whole mess to successfully parent the situation. (See, Dr. Sears? Not totally hopeless.)

I’ll spare you the dialogue (mostly because I can’t remember how it all went down exactly), but as it turns out, Anna was, in her words, “trying to do a prank.” Though “innocent” would be a poor choice of words here, she was honestly acting in a spirit of good-natured--albeit ornery--humor and not out of a desire to harm.  Her face was both appalled and amused when I explained to her that I had slept on the dumb diaper for the majority of the night and that the smell had permeated everything on that corner of the bed (including the mattress topper and my hair). Anna apologized as she explained, “I didn’t think that would happen. I thought you would just get in bed and be like ‘Pee-Yew!’ and find it and just throw it away.” She didn’t seem to be able to wrap her brain around the fact that someone could be so tired that they could sleep on poop for hours on end without identifying the problem. Reflecting back on the ordeal, I’m not so sure I can quite wrap my brain around that fact, either.

We had a quality talk about limits on pranks, germs, etc., and within an hour, I was able to find the humor in it all. Anna worked to make things right on her end of the deal by helping me wash and change bed linens and Febreeze the mattress topper and pillow.

Now, a few nights down the road, things seem to have leveled back out, though I’m not sure that pillow will ever be the same. I stuffed a couple of sheets of Bounce inside the cover and am keeping my fingers crossed it will make a full recovery.

The broad range of internal emotional responses this whole mess brought out in me made me reflect a little.  My kids still aren’t perfect. They still whine sometimes, fight sometimes, fail to listen, fail to yield, take things too far. Even so, I am a firm believer that however imperfect, my little monsters are beautiful and wonderful and a gift just as they are. They are full of potential, but they are also enough--just as they are--right now. Enough to have value, enough to be loved unconditionally, enough have impact on the lives of others (especially on the life of this can-be-crabby mama) by drawing attention to pieces of God’s heart in ways only children can.

I never thought I’d be the type of mom who would lose sight of this, but I do sometimes. My temper still flares sometimes; my priorities get out of whack; I miss the mark with discipline and affirmation. I tend to get sucked into the trap of focusing on how my kids behave and how I need to exert my will to steer their actions, their experiences, and their character instead of focusing on who God has created them to be and how I can partner with Him in shaping their lives (and my own) to follow Jesus.

I speak often of grace. It seems I never have less need of it.

There are lots of Bible verses about children, about parenting, about grace, about God’s provision in material things and in shaping our lives. Still, this one stood out to me today, resonating in my mind as a simple prayer for my life as a whole, even beyond the call of motherhood:

Teach me to do your will, for you are my God. May your gracious Spirit lead me forward on a firm footing.

Psalm 143:10

So… as I get ready to close my eyes tonight, I shall choose to breathe in that perspective (along with the heavy masking scent of Bounce on my pillow).