It just keeps on coming . . . .

the excrement, I mean.  It.  Never.  Ends.

And while this is good news for my husband, who is a septic system installer, it may be less enthusiastically received by mothers, who aren’t getting monetary incentives.

 So much of motherhood is an intense focus on  the basic necesseties of life:   1)  sleep (for mom and kids)  2) food  and 3) clean-up and disposal of said food that has reached the end of the digestive process.

I was reminded of that this morning when I awoke to my 4-year-old’s announcement, “Mama, Prairie peed on the bedroom floor.”  Not such a big deal.  Prairie is 3 years old, and accidents happen.

But then, Rachel rushes back and excitedly reports that there is underwear in the potty. 

Huh?

I am compelled to investigate, and find boys’ underwear in the potty, a very large puddle of . . . . . . . . .unidentified (though I have a pretty good guess) liquid around the potty.  Peering into the boys’ bedroom, I see a very confused, half-asleep and half-naked Lincoln wrapped in a blanket on the hard floor, beside his empty and unused  bed.  No big deal.  Lincoln is 7 years old and has a sleep-walking-with-a-full-bladder-problem.  And a strange preference for hard floor over comfy bed.

Now, I want to make it clear that I’m not complaining.  After all, my life would be so ho-hum and boring without the little people adding so much interesting blogging material to my life.  I am so very glad that I didn’t know what I was getting into when we decided it was good idea to have a baby.  And that piddles and poos would occupy a large chunk of my time and efforts.  For years.  And years . . . . . .

I might have missed out on so much excitement, wonder, awe, charm and laughter.  Especially the laughter.  Much, much laughter.

In fact, I was laughing to myself this morning when I thought of retelling the story of Lincoln’s underwear in the potty for years to come —- reminding Lincoln of the story when he is 12 years old and 18 years old.  Retelling the story to his fiance.  And finally, one day, to Lincoln’s kids and our grandkids.

That’s what life is all about.  A story about the nitty-gritty of everyday life and finding the funny in it.

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