I’ve been a sad sack around here lately … I’ll have mercy on you today, and tell you why you should immediately do something nice for the closest {permanent} single parent you can grab.

We went to my parents’ church over the break. I grew up in this church, it’s a part of coming home, it is home, in a small corner of my heart.

After church the second Sunday, there was a small reception to say goodbye to the associate pastor, a dear man, who has ministered to my parents in times of intense crisis.

Let me tell you about “small” receptions at Westminster. They are still fancy. We have more than one interior decorator and they sure don’t decorate small. I’m just sayin’. It was lovely. And high class. {Very much UN-like how we roll, much to my chagrin}.

And while I was chatting with some lovely women who are still very much invested on our lives – for which I am so thankful – the Wee Man LOUDLY informed me that he pooped in his pants.

No worries. I’m prepared for this. My sister thinks my diaper bag actually ate New York. It’s full, and e.n.o.r.m.o.u.s. So we trek into the bathroom armed with a change of clothes and a million wipes.

I’ll spare you the details – I cleaned him up, used all million wipes, tossed them in the toilet along with the offending bodily waste. Annnnd of course that clogged the toilet. So the water’s rising at a terrifying rate and now I start to panic a little.

I fished all one million wipes out of the toilet – gagging a little – and threw them away. I go to put the Wee Man’s clothes on before I hunt down the plunger, and it turns out, despite being able to survive in a post-apocolyptic world for days on the contents of my diaper bag – the only underwear I have HAS ALREADY BEEN POOPED IN.

I threw the clothes down on the floor next to Wee Man, snag my friend Mrs. G to keep in a eye on him and ran to grab a diaper.

Of course I don’t have a Wee Man sized diaper so I pick up the small diaper, grab Mr. G to get a plunger, and run back to the bathroom.

THE BATHROOM THAT IS NOW FILLING UP WITH POOP WATER. Wee Man is quick, and flushed the toilet again before Mrs. G. could stop him and poop water has flooded his clothes and is fast approaching the entrance. Wee Man is wide-eyed and barefoot right in the middle of the bacterial pool.

I rescued him from the feces flood, gingerly picked up the clothes, and beat a hasty retreat with Mrs. G.

Outside the bathroom, I set him down for a quick second to let Mr. G. know we also need a mop. Wee Man did what any respectable two year old in his position would do, and took a naked lap around the high class party. Several in fact. {Side note: this would be the same party that J Girl sweet talked the cake ladies into giving her a wildly inappropriate amount of cake that she was huddled over in the corner.  People, she acted like I hadn’t fed her for days.}

Y’all. I was helpless with laughter. I finally got the tiny diaper on him, and watched with shaking shoulders as my long-suffering brother in law and the aforementioned Mr. G mopped up the poop water. Wee Man is still running around pantsless, and sporting a righteous diaper wedgie.

But that’s not all. Because of course it isn’t. As the mop bucket is being wheeled out of the bathroom, full to the brim with the aftermath, Mr. W. {the long-sufferer}, nudges it the wrong way and the bucket empties out on the carpet. All of it.

At this point, Mrs. G and I are holding each other up because we are laughing to the point of tears. Because if you don’t laugh at yourself, you’ll cry your eyes out otherwise.

Wee Man went home pantsless. I went home slightly mortified …

Y’all. SINGLE PARENTING IS NO JOKE.

And Lord willing, I’ve only got this gig for seven more months.

So why the ridiculously long overshare? {I generally try to avoid stories like this for the sake of my kiddos’ privacy, but this one was too good to pass up in order to puncuate my point …}

Which is … grab the nearest single parent, buy him/her dinner, babysit the kids, clean up poop water, buy the six year old hot chocolate after she has a meltdown at gymnastics over the one she just dropped – whatever they need! {All actual things people have done for me over the last two months}. 

Seriously, this one of the most difficult, loneliest things I have ever done and I don’t have the added grief of death, or divorce, or failed relationships. Take a moment to reach out to the all-the-time single parents in your life – {not me, this isn’t about me} – and ask them what they need. And sometimes, don’t ask, just do. You may be the tiny knot at the end of a very frayed rope. 

You’re welcome for my January public service announcement.