When Sh#* LITERALLY hits the fan. A Mothers life.

A wise friend, mother of five once said to me:

Whatever is clean will get Sh*& on is less than 24 hours. This includes your body.

This is me on a SPA day with my friends. Today wasn't a spa day , but I like to just remember how relaxed I was here. RIP relaxed Mom.

This is me on a SPA day with my friends. Today wasn’t a spa day , but I like to just remember how relaxed I was here. RIP relaxed Mom.


I apologize for the bleeped out language in my Christian blog, but today has been long. And really there is no other way to describe fecal matter to you in the way I experienced it today without using that word. Pray for me at your next church service. I’ll still be cleaning up sh^%.

I am aware that Monday mornings for stay at home Mothers mean nothing more than a day, except that you have to pack lunches and scurry out the back door to the mini van. The ” I’m cold” ‘s and ” Why do I have to go to school today?” continue until you get into the drop off line. Then it’s kisses and goodbyes while you plan out the rest of your day. At 8 am it seems like you have 36 hours until Daddy arrives home, but alas you have the same amount of time to get things done as you did on Sunday. Except Sundays are more fun, and lazy. 

Although Mondays are mundane parts of our week, I am convinced that Mondays have a special wake up call for Mothers, near and far. We are awakened to the fact that our jobs are never ending and while they are a blessing, they are hard.


The smell of coffee brought me back to life after the debate of waffles or cereal was finished. I had won , victory was mine as cereal is easier than waffles. Our toaster is from 1937 , and you have to hold  down the button to toast anything. It won’t stay on it’s own. Sort of like changing a toddlers poop. 

DO YOU WANT SHART STREAKS IN YOUR DIAPER? NO?! THEN HOLD STILL !

Mid breakfast break Rhema runs to the restroom. She is gone a questionable amount of time, as I sip my coffee and read Psalms 28. Reading Psalms 28 calms me as I say it aloud. Having employee problems , whom don’t have brains and steal from us… it’s difficult to feel love towards them. But I try as I call them my enemies in the battle. Wink.


Backwards to two hours ago when my dear husband cleaned his bathroom and set out brand new rugs on the tile floor. Watching him clean created another deep longing for another child, or the process of another child as drool dripped down my chin. While another child wasn’t an option I begged that we purchase a puppy for the children for Christmas. Anything baby. I don’t care if it’s a baby raccoon. For God’s sake , give me something to Mother that needs me to rock it. 


” MOM! THE POTTY IS EXPLODING POOOOOOOOPPP ALL OVER THE NEW RUGS!”

I set down my coffee and took a deep breath. I wasn’t ready to see the destruction of said newly cleaned bathroom but I knew it had to be done. I was the only adult present. Adult duty = adult DOOTY.

 The smell consumed me as I entered the mens bathroom of the house. Men’s bathrooms usually smell like junk, but in this case it was a girls junk that had exploded onto the tile floor. I stood there for a moment as a tear slid down my cheek. It was a tear of grief for the fact that I pictured myself frolicking around the house, doing a clean dance. Both bathrooms were clean five minutes prior and I was a new woman. Destined to actually SLEEP during nap time instead of clean pee stains off the toilet seat.

Cleaning it was as fun as labor, with the dry heaving and all. Transition stage was when I poured boiling hot water over the floor and threw bleach on every crevice of it’s being. I cleaned up the POOP, yes chunks of poop with our brand new towels, vowing I wouldn’t tell my husband or their use. I threw all poop chunks into the bathtub and dry heaved more as I ran scalding hot water over them to dissolve. That’s one way to sanitize a bathtub. I later poured straight bleach all over the entire bathtub and my feet, which wreaked with the smell of crap,all the way up to my hair.

After all was clean and I stood proudly beyond the bathroom door, admiring my work of sanitation, I could still smell the said Sh%&. Looking around I didn’t see anymore chunks. My eyes only directed at the FLOOR, I didn’t look above me. 

Something told me to look above where my eyes could see. How spiritual right? I thought Jesus was telling me something. Something encouraging and uplifting . Perhaps an Angel was standing above me, giving me peace and comfort in the midst of my chaos. My two year old begging for more cereal and my four year old apologizing and asking me if I was going to ” tell Daddy” about this unfortunate incident.

Nothing spiritual about what I saw next. I sighed a breath of fresh poop, when all the while everything around my smelled like bleach. Fresh , flesh eating bleach.

Oh my gah. THERE IS POOP ON THE FAN.

I fainted , and was quickly revived.

jk. I wanted to faint, but instead I stood on the bathtub, heals in the air and I sprayed the fan with bleach. This really helped the color of my hair, and my eyebrows needed a wax anyway. Just like that the smell was all gone and I resumed my usual activities as a Mother. Like removing gum from peoples hair, swearing they will never be given gum again. And  preparing dinner. Chili was on the menu , as I dry heaved at the fact that I knew it would look like what I cleaned up.

Yay for mothers everywhere and all the nasty jobs you do! Maybe today you are cleaning up throw up or snot or endless diapers of said substance. YAY for you! You all rock and you are all not full of crap. Although you constantly clean it up.

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