What do all of these things have to do with each other? Nothing. But also a lot. It keeps me humble. On my toes. And always a little embarrassed.
The girls and I and Jason and our neighbors and their friends and their dogs, have been sick for 2 weeks. In real time (or I need-to-have-a-life-and-get-out-of-this-house-or-I'm-gonna-poke-myself-in-the-eyeball time) it felt like an eternity. Being sick and having sick kids is for the birds. It is the pits. I know all of you have been there, and if you didn't feel like it was one of the worst times of your life, then you're a better mother than I. This is when I wish I had all the money in the world to give my kids a magic pill that makes them instantly better, while I go on a sick vacation (to Hawaii) for a week. Who will take care of the kids? The nanny, of course!
Anyhow, a vacation to Hawaii was out of the question. Heck, going to Forever21 and buying a new outfit was out of the question. So our maiden voyage out into the real world was to...
Drum roll, please....
The YMCA!!!!! (Crickets chirp)
Now I know that it's really not that exciting. But I have to tell you, that IT IS actually a wonderful place. You get to drop your children off and work out. Doesn't sound like fun to you? The dropping off your kids part makes every unbearable workout, more bearable, because you are on a break from your children. And who doesn't want a break?
So our first trip out into the real world was going great. The girls were excited to play in the children's room, and I was able to run again. After my workout the endorphins were pumping, my legs felt like they were going to fall off, and I was on top of the world. I picked up the girls and headed out the door. I momentarily stopped in the lobby, put Chloe down to find my keys and she immediately grabbed her Bible out of our diaper bag. A little side note, Chloe is obsessed with her Bible. She gets that thing and will not let go of it. She pats it. She reads it. And she sings the B-I-B-L-E. And I know a mother shouldn't do this, but I have to hide it from her all the time. It's like WW-III to get it away from her.
She immediately starts reading it, and walking. And then she hears Coldplay over head. And she dances. And she dances some more. And she's pulling out moves that I've never seen. And she's singing the B-I-B-L-E. And patting her Bible. And dancing. And people are laughing. A couple of people stopped us before we left and asked about the girls. While they were talking to me, they kept giving me really strange looks. And I kept thinking that it was because Chloe was doing her version of religious dancing.
After gathering up Stella and my little heathen, we went out to the car. I put Chloe in her car seat first, then I sat Stella in my seat and started the car, then I put Stella in her car seat. After she was buckled in, I looked down and there was green, mushy poop all over my arm. ALL OVER IT. Then I look down again, and it's all over my shirt. My mind does an instant recall of every place Stella has been since blowing the heck out of her diaper. I back track. Stella is obviously covered in poo. Her car seat is covered. Then I run over to Chloe's side and her car seat is speckled with poop. Then I run to my seat, and the back of my seat was covered. I didn't know where to start. What to tackle first. The girl, my arm, the car seats, my seat????
And then I realized what the strange looks were for. I was walking through the Y, completely oblivious to the fact that my daughter pooped on me. And I'm mortified.
I finally got us all cleaned up. My face eventually went back to its normal color. And I cried and was grossed out the entire ride home.
The moral of the story? I don't really know. All I know is that I've been continuously humbled as a mother. I know that as much as I try to figure things out and get them perfect, they just aren't. Because when it comes down to it, my daughters like to embarrass me publicly with their dancing while reading the Bible, and their obligatory blow-outs. And I write about poop on my blog. Never thought that would be me.
And to be perfectly honest. I wouldn't have it any other way.