a story you probably shouldn't read.

i've been thinking a good bit about stories lately.

because i just finished donald miller's a million miles in a thousand years.

and he talks about making our lives a good story.

i want to talk more about this later with you...

(and apologize to those of you i have left hanging 

about reading together online... i'll get to that soon.

if you got the book, by all means begin!)

but for now, i want to share a really poignant

horrible story from my earlier years as a mom.

dedicated to all young mothers out there.

(who clean up way too much poop.)

sauvie island farms | sauvie island, or

oliver (above) is my wonderful nine year old son.

he is wise, curious, sweet, and loyal.

before you read the story below,

you should know that i absolutely adore him 

and that he is not really gross or difficult to take care of.

okay.

(stop reading now if you don't like disgusting stories.)

(i warned you.)

once upon a time,

way back when,

i only had two kids

my youngest was oliver.

he was still in diapers.

and still taking naps.

during a particular afternoon,

he was in his room for his nap time.

i needed his nap more than he did.

i was pregnant with our baby girl, abigail.

i walked past his bedroom 

and wondered if he had fallen asleep yet.

but i heard movement.

like he was playing.

*sigh*

i debated whether or not to go in,

but decided i should check on him.

when i opened the door, 

i was pushed back a bit by the smell of poop.

*sigh*

time to change ANOTHER diaper.

i took a few steps toward oliver.

the smell increased.

it was intense and

my nose started to feel violated.

i approached wondering what he had eaten that day.

why was the smell so bad?

and

then

i saw it.

a poop smear.

i began to panic... 

there is poop not only in the diaper, 

but outside of the diaper.

one step closer.

i saw another smear.

two more steps.

the reality sets in.

he. smeared. poop. from. his. diaper. 

ALL. OVER. EVERYTHING.

the bed.

the comforter.

the pillow.

the few stuffed animals.

most of the steps on his bunk bed ladder.

the wall.

and the floor.

the literal sh#t seemed to have hit the fan and scattered all over the room.

(and i have never said that particular bad word more times in one day before or since that day.)

i was sure that i was having an out of body experience.

i was spinning above myself looking down as the anger, confusion, and self pity grew.

my little adorable sweet curly blond headed boy.

had been using his diaper as if it were a bottle of paint.

reaching in to refill his chubby paintbrush finger

as the inspiration moved him.

and using his entire bedroom as the canvas.

art had never seemed so depraved.


THE END

(i still feel like i could throw up.)

and one day.

i will pay oliver back for this work of art.

(suggestions are welcome.)

and one day.

i will forgive brian for being out of town.

(how does he always miss out on the good stuff?!)

maybe my payback is publishing this.

although oliver does know i'm doing it.