The morning started out a little rough. My perfect, lovable five year old (you know, the one with Down syndrome), ran out into the pouring rain and splashed in puddles while I was gathering all the things going in public with 4 children requires and since we were already going to be over half an hour late to our homeschool co-op due to literal hail and high water, I just ran back in the house grabbed a plastic bag and a pair of dry pants to change him into when we reached our destination and hit the road.
Things at co-op are a little hectic due to the weather and lots of last minute changes. 5 year old tries to run away multiple times. I can't seem to get out of my morning funk.
My poor unsocialized homeschooled children were not ready to say goodbye to their friends by the time our reserved co-op time at the library expired, so I decide to be a fun mom and make plans!
Side note: This never goes well for me. As soon as the words "fun mom" cross my mind a dark shadow begins to loom and something bad is destined to happen. Why do I even let those words live in my mind? I'll never know.
Let's take our kids to the park and play!
Friends (smarter than me) remind me that it's been raining and will probably rain more and also that it's lunchtime and kids need to eat.
Okay! Indoor play place + lunch with friends = Total fun mom!
I am awesome! A little frazzled, but awesome! Fun mom! I take the little kids to the potty before loading the van, drive to the nearest chicken place, start wrangling tables for 6 adults 12 children, and order while the kids play.
Just as the food comes out, 5 year old comes to me with wet pants. Gah! I take him to the bathroom and put him in the dry pants I grabbed earlier that I had forgotten to change him into at co-op. Toss the wet pants and undies into the baggie and walk calmly from the bathroom. No big deal, it was just a little accident.
As we rejoin our friends I notice that they are closing down the play place. Weird. One of the kids says there's pee in there.
10 minutes later I realize it was my kid's pee the poor teenager is in there cleaning up! Somehow I forgot that pee doesn't just disappear after it soaks through pants. I'm a little embarrassed and feel really bad, but at that point it's a little too late to do anything. One friend mentions this funny story she read about a mom who's kid pooped all over a chicken restaurant to help me feel better about the pee situation. She tags me in it so I can read it when I get home.
By the time the kids are done eating, the play place is clean, so they swarm while we adults talk about adulty things and giggle like children. I'm staying relaxed, you know, fun mom.
The kids play for a while before a really awful smell fills our area. I look over at my friend's toddler expecting him to need a diaper change. Nope, not him. I look the other way and see my 5 year old. No. He's potty trained. I look in his pants. Yes. Kids start yelling and freaking out. There's poop streaked around the floor on the path to our table. There's poop streaked through the play place.
Remember when I changed him into dry pants earlier? I only had pants, no undies. Yeah. You know what happened.
I stand there frozen for a minute, completely unsure of what to do. His feet are coated in his own poo. I feel overwhelmed to get the poop outside away from all the poor people at the restaurant, so I carry my child (holding him away from me, because, poo), to the van and stand outside my van in the rain while I try to figure out a course of action. I realize now, that the most logical place to go would be the bathroom, but that thought did not cross my mind in the moment.
A friend brings me some baby wipes and I take off my kid's pants and do my best to wipe him off. In the parking lot. In the rain. I find a random pair of pants in the van, put them on him and buckle him in his carseat. All the nastiness goes in a bag and I call a friend and ask her to send my 9 year old out. 9 year old is crying because he's (justifiably) mad that our fun day has been cut short and waits with the 5 year old in the van.
By the time I reenter the building for my walk of shame, my friends have bagged up poopy shoes for me, gathered my other kids, quarantined poo streaked areas, and have little packets of sanitizing wipes ready for me. I wanted to cry. I could not have handled all of it without them. Who knew that a poop fest could offer such love?
I sanitize, take my other two kids to the car, and go home.
Only later, when reading the funny chicken restaurant poo story my friend sent me, did I realize that a good citizen would have cleaned up the poop in the playplace! Those workers earned their wage and then some today!