I walked into the bathroom the other day, and saw this:
I can't imagine how that happened.
I suppose that maybe it could be that, you know, because I buy such good quality potty paper that it was just too weighty for the roller thing. And maybe it kept unrolling until one of my nimble, Johnny-on-the-spot boys whipped it back on the spool. Of course, he would need to tuck it under itself to keep it from unrolling again, so he methodically engineered this little concoction only out of dire need to keep the TP under control.
You see, maybe it really was a commode crisis!
Maybe it was a certain four year old who was getting a little distracted while sitting on his baseball-veneered throne cover trying to go "pooh."
Yeah. I think so too.
After I finished laughing about it, I started thinking that deep in the recesses of my mind I was being reminded of something. Something good.
And then it hit me.
Have you ever read this book to one of, or all of, your kids?
Well, okay, Lil bit is a "lil bit" older than the sweet, innocent toddler shown on the front cover. But believe me, he's just as mischievous!
But the book, if you haven't read it, is a story of a mom who holds her newborn, rocking him and singing this song:
I'll love you forever
I'll like you for always
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be
The baby continues to grow, and through each stage of the child's life, the mother continues to sing this same song to him. Eventually, the role is reversed and the adult son is holding his elderly, presumably ailing mother and sings the song to her, changing the words a bit to, "as long as I'm living, my mommy you'll be."
I have never read this book to my children without crying. Ever.
After he goes back to his home, he walks into the nursery and picks up his own sleeping baby. As he holds her in his arms, he sings to her the song he heard his whole life.
Talk about a perspective on the "little things."
One day, I will no longer walk into the bathroom to see the toilet paper in a wad four times the size it's supposed to be. There will come a day when I won't have to clean up three separate tracks of mud through the kitchen 15 minutes after I've mopped it. Sooner than I think will come, I will be able to do all my laundry in one single afternoon because there will only be two of us at home.
You'd think that's something to look forward to, except that I think the empty hole in my heart will overshadow the lack of chores.
I should apologize right here for my friends who are there already, and now I am reminding you of your empty hole. I don't mean to bring you down.
But I know that, where I'm at right now, I need the reminder of that which is inevitable. Because they really won't be here forever. And even though I am charged with teaching them to be respectful of the things God has blessed us with, I want them to know that regardless of the senseless messes they make and the hard work behind keeping them fed, clothed, and educated...they are loved.