Joy to the World.

Dear Son #3,

Yesterday, as you hopefully recall, we went to church. As per usual (I blame you and your brothers always) we scuttled in right on time as the pastor greeted us and the worship team began to cue up the music. We found some seats and began to take our coats off as Joy to the World, one of my favourite Christmas songs, began to play. I looked around the church feeling really quite festive for the first time this year. The stage was beautifully adorned with soft white lights, the cross was prominently displayed and backlit; there were wreaths on almost every door and beautiful red poinsettias with pretty silver ribbons scattered around the sanctuary. It truly was a simple yet breathtaking sight. 

Joy to the world, the Lord is come!
Let earth receive her King;
let ev’ry heart prepare him room
and heav’n and nature sing,
and heav’n and nature sing,
and heav’n, and heav’n and nature sing.

Then, a tug at my sweater. 

“I have to go POO” you whisper-but-not-really in my ear. 

Sigh. At least I would be able to hear the music from the bathroom. 

Now I do want to interject briefly here to say that Daddy offered to take you being that I was still on a cane from my recent hip replacement. And if there is one regret I have ever had in my life, it was saying,

“No thanks, it’s okay, I got him.”

You ran ahead of me, cheeks already clenched but luckily made it to the toilet without incident. After you had successfully finished your business, we went to clean your hands. I had to lift you a little to the sink but we managed and I felt proud to have recovered enough that I could take my own child to the bathroom. #hipreplacementwin. Joy to the World was still playing as we went to leave the bathroom to go enjoy the rest of the song.

Joy to the earth, the Savior reigns!
Let men their songs employ,
while fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains,
repeat the sounding joy,
repeat the sounding joy,
repeat, repeat the sounding joy.

I stopped in my tracks when I noticed you leaving a little brown trail behind you with every step. 

That’s not chocolate. I thought, mild panic setting in. Or mud because it’s snowing outside. (Also what added to the magical-ness of the morning that was very quickly dissipating for me).

I told you to immediately stop and freeze while I inspected the massive chunk of poop propped up on your boot. Hanging out there, mocking me, promising nothing but mayhem. I slowly removed the boot and put it in the sink. Then you shifted and I saw a very large, very brown patch on the seat of your pants. 

Oh. My. Heavens. 

I told you to stay frozen like a statue as I proceeded to go through the entire supply of the ladies’ bathroom’s paper towel while leaving the sink running full blast. **side note, in the country this means slightly more than a trickle at best** I cleaned your pants as best as I could with very thin paper towel and water while rinsing your boot under the trickle. After a thorough going over and smelling inspection, I sent you back to your seat while I addressed the floor.

No more let sins and sorrows grow
nor thorns infest the ground;
he comes to make his blessings flow
far as the curse is found,
far as the curse is found,
far as, far as the curse is found.

It’s not easy doing anything with a cane really except maybe a mean impersonation of Ebenezer Scrooge and I’ve been acing that daily. However, I was able to clean the floor of the bathroom relatively well, albeit in some of the most unbecoming positions known to the man. After finishing, I stood up to compose myself, wipe the sweat and wash my hands before returning to the service. As I smoothed my new-to-me Christmas sweater in attempt to collect myself, my hand came upon something warm and sticky. 

Not chocolate. Not mud. 

He rules the world with truth and grace
and makes the nations prove
the glories of his righteousness
and wonders of his love,
and wonders of his love,
and wonders, wonders of his love.

I sent up a prayer then and there as Joy to the World was finishing—that I wouldn’t burst into tears (or swear too much) in the ladies’ bathroom as I attempted to clean the incredibly large smear of poop off of my nice, sparkly, CREAM-COLOURED sweater. How was it possible that I was still experiencing church-bathroom-poop-explosions when my youngest was three-and-a-half-years-old? And more importantly, where did the rogue poop come from??

The sweater came as clean as it was ever going to get with the now-almost-gone paper towels. So, head held high and hands washed again, I limped my way out of the bathroom and back to my seat. 

“I wish you’d taken him.” I hissed to poor daddy when I sat down. 

“I offered!!” he exclaimed defensively.

“I know, I know.” I replied taking you back on my lap as more songs began to play. “I just wished I had listened to you for once!”

The rest of the songs went smoothly and you and your brothers happily went off to Sunday School as I looked on wearily, hoping no one would think anything of the brown spot on your behind. I felt my blood pressure coming down slightly as we settled in for the rest of the service. I rubbed my leg (sore from the bathroom adventure) then leaned into Daddy and whispered…

“There’s dried up poop on my leggings, I’ll just change when we get home.” 

JOY TO THE WORLD!! 🙂

Love Mommy, 

XOX

Source: Hymnary.org – Isaac Watts (1719)

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