Fact: Sometimes parents need a break from their kids.
As evidenced this morning.
Suffice it to say that potty training for Max has been polarizing. Earlier this month, he was clean and dry for a stretch of ten days. This weekend? Not so successful. Flash to Monday morning and the boys headed to the basement to play for a bit before embarking on the journey (across town) to preschool and daycare. They came upstairs to get shoes and jackets on and Max gave me the look.
"Uh oh Max, what's wrong?"
Then in one simple confirmation he points at his man-parts. Points.
With the tick tock of the clock in the forefront of my mind, I pulled his pants down and came up with a handful off something else. What I assumed was a wet diaper, was a pretty significant blow out. Poo everywhere. Before I could get him to the tub he had yuck from his bum to his ankle. I got him cleaned up (Jack headed to preschool with Gage) and he stood right in my face, yapping about something while I'm trying to clean up the bathroom, get dirty clothes to the washer and not mess up my own outfit. I was thisclose to losing my cool, but instead found my inner peace and requested, "Max, please go find something quietly to do in your bedroom. Find a book, sing a song, I don't care. I'm upset that you pooped your pants and made a mess, and I need a little break from you."
He said, "Ok!" and because he is Max the (usually) Listener, he charged off into his room. Moments later as I'm on my knees, hitting the bathtub with the Clorox he comes around the corner carrying a Bible, singing about Jesus. Kid you not.
The anger diminished, laughs ensued, I hugged the kiddo, delivered him to daycare and settled into work for a much needed break after the weekend.