I will start at the end. Sunday night bath time turned sour quickly when SH3 pooped in the tub.
It was a great weekend. I had done a super fun "Color Run" with my sister in law on Saturday morning, had a backyard picnic with the kids afterwards and even got a nap.
My best friend checked in with me via text to tell me how she had been having a much more difficult weekend. Kids were sick and a lot of sleep lost by all. I told her about my new blog adventure and her response surprised me after she read my most recent post (see "bright eyed and bushy tailed" here).
She took my words and turned it around to less concern about her lack of sleep and more about how crummy her kids felt and that they were not purposefully torturing her. She read me for better than I really am.
Those words hung heavily with me all weekend. They are not doing this on purpose, they want to be kids. They want to squirm, spit, and yell in the car to insanity-inducing decibels. I played the "Call Me Maybe" song for my SH1 and he yelled for me to turn it up and proceeded to sing the chorus at the top of his lungs. "So here's my number, call me maybe! Mom can we play this song at my birthday?" It is that simple. Hearing a song that you love or one encouraging word from a friend to turn things around.
SH3 pooped in the tub. One week ago this would have ruined my night. I would have stressed about the germs non-stop, cursing the baby while scrubbing the tub with knuckle bleeding vigor. Tonight? I laughed. I ran to pull poop covered kids from the murky depths. I retrieved the bleach and a bucket. My husband donned the gloves and went to work. It was barely a hiccup and an event that will be forgotten tomorrow.
SH3 pooped in the tub and it was most certainly NOT on purpose to torture me; she had to poop.