A Turd in a Ziploc

Here's something you should know about me: I'm rarely kidding. Seriously. In "real life," if I make people laugh, and often I do, it's because I'm wide open. I'm a person who talks openly and passionately about what's happening around me and how I'm processing it.

I have a sense of humor and can appreciate the funny elements of stories, but I'm probably one of the most serious people you'll ever encounter. I'm dead serious, and I'm not even kidding. Seriously. (Please believe me.)

Now for the story of the turd, which I couldn't make up if I tried.

Clementine was horsing around on a bar stool, yesterday, and fell, striking the left side of her forehead against a log that protrudes from one of our (log) walls. Y'all. I have never in my life seen a goose egg like what formed on that child's forehead. It bore a remarkable likeness in size and shape to one of those orange circus peanuts.

Image Source

To say I could never be a nurse is the understatement of the century. Woozy, I grabbed a Ziploc of frozen strawberries from the freezer and asked Cade to make sure Clementine held it in the right spot. Then I sat down (hard) to call the pediatrician and run a Google Search. Long story short, Clementine held that Ziploc of strawberries to her forehead the whole way to dance class.

Later, on the way home, she ate the fruit.

The three little kids and I were at the park, today, when Charleigh danced up to me and said: "Mama, I hafta poop." I walked her to the minivan and sat her on the potty seat I've started keeping in there. She did her deal, and I shook her turd into the Ziploc from which Clementine had eaten strawberries the night before. We returned to the park, and later, I disposed properly of the waste.

At this point, you're probably wondering why in the world I feel the need to blog this story. I don't mean to scare you, but I could go off in ten different directions right now. Seriously. (Remember, I'm a serious person.)

But this is what I want to tell you most of all: I'm my best mom-self when I'm adventuring with my kids. I'm much more apt to lose my cool at home, where my daughters display what I call "rat behavior" like: shredding styrofoam plates and toilet paper; eating the Hershey Kisses off the tops of all the cookies; filling various containers with water from the door of the refrigerator and spilling said water on the carpet; "washing" their hair with milk and juice from their sippy cups; smearing personal lubricant (yes, really) and diaper cream all over their faces; etc.

My girls aggravate me when we're out, too, but they behave less like rats. I won't yell in public, so I feel like a kinder mom when we're adventuring. And most importantly, I'm an adventurer at heart; I've always been an adventurer.

I mean this to encourage you. It's taken me awhile to figure out how to make adventure happen with three very small children. I'm blessed to have friends like Sharon and Anjie, who love to adventure with the little ones and me, but oftentimes they're not available, and I have to do what I have to do. I don't like carrying--and putting a small child on--a potty seat in my minivan. But I push through my discomfort in order to do what I want and be who I want. In order to be my best self. In order to be the person God made me to be.

If you haven't figured out a way to be who you are in your heart...if you're overwhelmed or scared...if something's holding you back...buck up, Little Camper. Push through to the other side.

Don't be afraid to put up with a little shit. I'm not.