What Poop Pants Taught Me About Marriage

Geplaatst op 12-06-2025

Looking For International Marriage Agency? Try Loveawake Free Dating Site:

Swedish Marriage Agency
Indian Matrimonial Site
Japanese Marriage Website
Aussie Marriage Site
German Marriage Agency You Can Trust
Norwegian Marriage Free Site

A few weeks ago I picked up my two-year-old from preschool aftercare. Just before I arrived he had pooped in his pants. Whether he pooped on himself or made it to the bathroom and then pooped on his pants remains up in the air, but it didn’t matter at the end of the day. I still ended up with a plastic bag of poopy gray sweatpants in my hands, and was anxious to make it to my car so that I could get them home and out of my life.

My son was not as anxious. He threw the mini-tantrum that he has daily when I pick him up which he must do with the intention of making me look unfit to his teachers and my coworkers (did I mention that I work as an administrator at his school?) After a few “I don’t wanna go home” sessions indoors we made it out to the playground when it happened.

He ran away from me and climbed up into the top of the playground activity center tree house.

“I don’t want to go home.” He said from his post at the top.

“Logan come down,” I said.

“No.” His answer was matter of fact.

“Logan get down.”I wanted to yell “cue the angry black woman!” and let the woman that only appears during calls to the cable company threaten this little dude with everything up to and including bodily harm. But not only was I at work, I was now being watched by two other moms, or in laymen’s terms, a jury of my peers. So I contained my voice.

“I don’t want to have to come up there.”

I could see the wheels turning in his little head as he shook it and gave me his signature devilish grin. I was standing at the bottom of a treehouse in a pencil skirt, four-inch skinny heels, with cotton poop in my hands. I’d like to see you try and get up here lady. I could hear him thinking it.

After almost ten minutes of back and forth I came out of my shoes. I had resigned myself to the fact that the playground was about to turn PG-13 as I would have to give the rest of the world an unsolicited view of my unmentionables by climbing the monkey bars in order to get him down. Just before I had to shame myself, he finally decided to exit the tree house after I threatened to make his beloved Thomas the Train disappear permanently.

I whisper-yelled at him as loud as I could on our way back to the car in a flurry of anger and embarrassment. I was mad at him for pooping on himself. I was mad at him for being disobedient. I was mad at myself for being, I don’t know a bad parent for having a child who would embarrass me like that, and for wearing heels and a pencil skirt. I sat at the steering wheel in my car for a moment as he sung the alphabet, as he had moved on from the moment mentally long ago, knowing that as much as I love my son there was a part of me that wanted to actually turn around and slap the ABCs right out of him.

I took a deep breath and drove home. At some point I joined in the alphabet song.

Moral of this Story: No matter how much you love someone, every now and again, you’re going to have to end up holding their crap. Try to move past it. Maybe even sing along.