Sh^$*#(t!

No really. This isn't about swear words.

It isn't about getting on a half hour hay ride after an hour of waiting in line and then having your four-year-old announce he has to go peepee. (Not ours. Although German daddy did exactly what ran through my mind when his kid made the announcement!)

This is about cleaning the bathroom for guests. (Because with two four-year-old boys you DO want to clean up before your friends with two and three year olds come over.)

This is about cleaning up the bathroom for guests and then finding one of those guests on her hands and knees in front of the toilet wiping up the suspicious-looking liquid from the floor, toilet seat, walls and....well, anything in reach.

Lori had offered to clean my toilet for me when I was nine months pregnant with the twins (that and Erika offering to donate her AND her husband's blood when my platelet count was dropping are still two of the nicest things people have ever offered to do for me) but it still wasn't gratifying to actually have her do it four years later.

"What the heck happened here?" I asked.

There was a step stool pulled over to the toilet, 7 boys in the house, 4 of them under the age of four, and so anything was possible.

Oh well. The floor HAD been clean only two hours before.

It got better the following week when I was picking up the boys' room in preparation for Damon's surprise party. 11 kids expected. And some parents. I was still picking things up off the floor when Anita arrived and followed me in. Unfortunately, she and I were having such a good time talking that I forgot to pick up that suspicious little brown thing on the carpet next to the boys' mattress.

"Oh, what is that?" I asked, not at all embarrassed by now. After all, I'd already had Lori cleaning up my bathroom the week before.

Anita laughed.

About twenty minutes later her 3 year old daughter, Hannah, came out to join us on the balcony. She was accompanied by a rather strong smell. A trail of dark brown footprints followed her from the boys' room to the balcony.

Oh. I suddenly remembered what I'd forgotten to pick up.

Pour everyone some more wine and begin next to the bed with cleanup. The kids found it fascinating.

"What you doin'"

"What's it look like?

"What is that?

"Once again, what does it look like?"

The kids couldn't believe noone was getting in trouble.

The adults continued to enjoy themselves out on the balcony.

Reminding me, yet again, that it isn't about perfection.

It's about how you deal with imperfection.

Reminding me, too, that I don't need a perfect house in order to invite friends over.

Heck, it only takes one errant stream of urine to turn my clean bathroom into a flood zone anyway.

I believe it was Erma Bombeck who said, "cleaning the house while you have children in it is like shovelling the driveway while it's still snowing."

If only it were that pretty!

Connor Moments - Potty Training

I'm going to call them "Connor moments", moments that so perfectly define the craziness in my life as wife and mother.

Since I've kept my own last name legally (frankly, I never found the time to bother with changing all the school certificates and passports) - this also conveniently separates the real, true me from the absurdity of my present life.

Connor moments don't define as much as point out the ironies of life in the day-to-day struggle for perfection. They bring me back to earth just when I think things are going well, make me realize that things ARE going well even if they aren't perfectly, and make me laugh at myself and the world. I don't know if I grow from them, but I certainly find myself dying to share them with family and friends.

I had my fill of them last week.

Imagine our English playgroup with the twins on Wednesday. For those who hadn't read my blog on potty-training, it became fairly obvious pretty quickly, since Aidan and Matthew and I spent a good amount of time out of the room and in the bathroom. Aidan DID have to go once, the rest of the trips were outings of interest. "Oh, are you potty training the twins?" - this after our third trip to the mysterious and exciting world of bathrooms outside the home. I couldn't help bragging - a pretty sure sign a Connor moment is bound to follow soon. "Yes, and we've come home from kindergarten wearing the same outfits we went in, two days in a row now, both of them." I fairly beamed and considered myself the model of moderm motherhood.

Next imagine the end of playgroup, one and a half hours later. No - both twins are still dry - an ending that simple wouldn't be worthy to call itself a true Connor moment.

The crowning moment arrived when the older children join us for the end of the session, and my seven year old walks into the room with the telltale wet spot down the front of his shorts - and T-shirt.

Irony, humility, and perspective all in one - that's what defines a Connor moment.

I'm going to assume the irony and humility are clear; but the perspective took a minute to hit me. You see, for me, that wet spot in Andrew's pants was as clear as day, as big as a house, as obvious as....well as obvious as my failing parenting skills. Sue was next to me laughing the whole time - and I had to laugh with her figuring we were both in on the same secret. Let's face it - it WAS funny. But when I said something to her about it, Sue looked confused. Turns out she was smiling at my son, not noticing the stained pants he came in in. And when I pointed them out, it really didn't make a difference.

Turns out I - or my children's toilet habits - are not the center of the universe.

Karen had been in charge of leading the older children, and HAD noticed the breach in etiquette. Her take on the whole thing was a shrug of the shoulders and a perfect imitation of Ryan's reaction when SHE had noticed her brother's indiscretion. Well, it was Ryan with a British action but the actions were identical. Resigned shrug of the shoulders, deep sigh, rolled eyes and a tired, knowing "Oh Andrew, you are going to be in SO much trouble with Daddy."

"Perfect imitation of a mother." said Karen.

So I laughed and we went home. The afternoon wasn't ruined. My self-image wasn't harmed. And life went on peacefully, undisturbed by a wet stain, the world still revolving on its axis and around the sun.

Connor moments are the kind of moments you could right a sit-com episode around, but deep down they are moments of perspective, where I remember to treat it all lightly.