Scene #1: Jackson rushes in from playing outdoors. He hollers, "Mom, don't look at me!" I, of course, immediately picture him covered in mud with only his blue eye-balls peering out of the big brown glob that used to be my son. I am upstairs and so I yell back, "Why?" He answers,"Because, you don't want to look at me, Mom!" I sigh as his answer is not particularly descriptive and gear myself up for the second scenario I have imagined. What's worse than mud? Permanent Marker! I imagine his sweet little face with a villain-esque moustache or worse, a goatee like his dad! I am practically running to him by this time thinking it best to arrive on the scene and control the damage. And that's when I see him, his hands covering his forehead and tears threatening. He didn't want me to see the enormous bump on his head because he knew that I would as he put it "freak out." I tried to keep my "freak" to a minimum and quickly got him some ice. He explained that he got beaned in the head on the trampoline by the rock his friend kept in his pocket. Ouch!
Jackson wanted to spare my feelings. He intuitively knew that I would be hurt by his being hurt. His sweetness felt like an earthquake to my heart. How I love him!
(This picture was taken per Jackson's request. Apparently, once the pain wears off, it's pretty cool to have a gigantic lump on your head.)
Scene#2-(2 hours later) A white, smelly bottom with bits of dried poo stuck to it. I was alerted to the problem by his sister Ella who could not stand to be around the stench. Ostensibly, intuition does not teach you how to properly wipe your bottom. And so, I found myself a few hours after the above incident with a baby wipe in hand, demonstrating to my five year-old how it is done. All the mushy feelings I had towards Jackson earlier were hiding in the recesses of my heart, while I explained how you should keep wiping until the toilet paper comes back clean.
And there you have it folks, motherhood in all its sweetness and its poo. Like I said, "Perfect."
3 comments:
I just read this to Go but had to take several breaks during Scene #2 to get my giggles out.
When we have boys, I hope at least one of them is exactly like Jackson. BUT, I have the sneaking suspicion that there will ever only be one J-man.
And I remember a Family Home Evening lesson on such bathroom "habits".
And the word verification is "sesticia". Sounds like an Italian confection with more butter than red velvet cake.
Jackson, what a charmer. Poo and all.
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