Poo and Jewels

If I had a beautiful jewel, I would have it put into a ring and I would wear it every day, on my hand where I could see it-- even when I clean-- because jewels are beautiful reminders of perfection and eternity in a world that  is broken in so many ways.   If Jordan had one, she would study it to see how the light refracted when it wandered through the facets, and then the kid would probably count the faces on it before researching the way it was forged in the bowels of the earth--because jewels are a product of natural science that must be studied.  If Greg had a jewel, he would put it in a ring and give it to me and I would wear it every day--even to clean (I suppose this has already happened)--because he has no use for jewels (and I do). Meryl would hide hers in a treasure chest at the end of the rainbow, and she would pull a curtain of silver mist across the shiny copper chest to keep it hidden from common eyes--because jewels are mystical and perfect for feeding the imagination. But Micah Jade? Well, I never would have predicted her plan. (Don't read on if you don't like little kid toilet stories.)
    
I don't bathe Micah Jade any more.  By the end of the day, when I am trying to get everyone clean and practicing instruments and doing homework, while cooking dinner and attempting to be thankful and cheerful during the most stressful time of the day,  I am in no condition to get the smallest, squirreliest of my children bathed.  It costs me about five dollars a week, but it is worth every penny to get Jordan or Meryl to bathe her.  She doesn't always cooperate.  Sometimes I have to pay up for Jordan or Meryl's efforts and finish her bath myself because she thinks it is hilarious to be both dirty and difficult.
  
So, I guess it was a day like many days, and Jordan had been chosen as the designated MJ bather--today in the bath, not the shower.  I began to hear the first sounds of distress in the bathroom.  I don't come immediately when I hear slight distress because sometimes it resolves itself, but not this day. I waited the customary minute and then emerged into the bathroom to see micah Jade on her back with her legs in the air, looking sheepish and smirky, and Jordan frantically trying to look into Micah Jade's anus.

Jordan:  (distressed) "Mom, there is a blue sparkly thing in her butt.  I looked in there, and I know it is there! OH NO"
Me:  (curious) "Micah Jade? Did you put something in your butt?"
Micah Jade:  (smug) "Um-Hm.  I had a little jewel and (now starting to get agitated) I put it in there, and now I can't get it OUUUUUUUT!"
Me: "What was it?"
Jordan:  "She had a jewel--like a marble, and now it is not here, and the thing in her butt is blue just like the jewel."
Me:  (in disbelief)  "You put a jewel into your butt?"
MJ:  (with real alarm) "YES! and it is STUUUUUCK!"
Me:  (matter-of-fact-ly) "You might have to poo it out into the toilet."
Jordan:  (worried)  "You shouldn't put things in your butt"
MJ:  (repeated for two minutes  and during Jordan's and my astute analyses) "OUCH! OUCH! OUCH!"

I calmed her down; and I dressed her while stifling laughter and trying to explain the dangers of storing things in one's anus; and she ate dinner with us--all with a jewel in her butt.  In the end, I caught the jewel before it fell in the toilet so that she could enjoy it again.  Somedays, that is what motherhood is-- jewels buried in poo.

We mothers take the "good" experiences with the "bad", and we get to laugh and do things we never signed up for; and if we are lucky, we get to share the journey together with other mothers on parallel journeys of humour and mess and love.  Real motherhood is raw and untamed, and it is perfect for women that have a little wildness left--sometimes hidden deep inside.   It is not for the faint of heart (or the queasy), and I love it because I love my kids.  Perhaps tomorrow will be a little less nasty, perhaps not.  I'll take the adventure that comes, and, after surviving the poo, I'll treasure these memories in my heart like the priceless jewels they are.