It’s 1 am and…

I am a 51-year-old women standing in my backyard at 1 am whispering loudly, “Good poop! Good poop” in order to encourage the dog I did not want or need to poop in the yard and not my house. I don’t really think he has a clue what “good poop” means but I am trying to teach him. I have high hopes he will finally “get it” after six years of not “getting it.”

My nighttime dog ritual takes me back to a 1:00am feeding with my first born, when I heard a strange noise outside and saw flashing yellow lights coming down the street. It grew louder and louder as some sort of vehicle passed. The next morning I questioned my well-rested love of my life (aka LOML), “Did you hear that?”

“What? Hear what?

Later, I discovered that the yellow flashing lights and strange noise was how the city chose to combat mosquitoes – they sprayed pesticides! They drove around the streets fogging the neighborhoods with chemicals at night. Have you EVER seen the movie Once Upon a Forest? The little animals frolic in the forest until chemical fumes invade. One of the little creatures didn’t scurry fast enough and got sick from the fumes. His forest friends tried to save him the whole rest of the movie. That is all I could think of when I saw the fog fumes billowing out of the pipes. And my kids later had to scurry down the street like forest animals when they heard the trucks coming. But, I digress…

Fast forward to the nights when the daughter that threw up quite often – and never seemed to make it to the toilet – called MY name. Always my name. I changed the sheets, the clothes and scrubbed the carpet. ALWAYS the carpet.

The next morning I questioned the well-rested LOML “Did you hear “said child” last night? She barfed down the entire stairs this time.”

Nope.

NADA.

Then there were the nights I waited up alone for a kid to get home before their midnight curfew. Lots of nights. Years and years of nights waiting for the kids to get home. Or waiting until they were in bed with the lights out.

And now, I am standing in the yard loudly whispering “Good poop! Good poop!”

LOML has no idea of this ritual. He would certainly call me silly if he did.

Why do I tell you these stories? I tell you to encourage you if you are that mom in the middle of the night dealing with toxic chemicals or a crying baby, barf on the carpet, or teens about to miss their curfew. Eventually, the kids grow up, leave the house and you wonder where the time went.

Or if you are the wife wondering why your LOML doesn’t seem to care. He does. He’s just tired. That’s all.

And if you are the woman in the back yard concerned over your dog’s lack of pooping etiquette, I’m not sure I can help you other than to say you are not alone. And dogs don’t live forever. And when the dogs aren’t having potty issues, they really are cute, sweet, and great company. The same can be said for the kids.

For now, just concentrate on loving them, protecting them, and most importantly, teaching them to love the Lord.

 

Have you never heard? Have you never understood?


The Lord is the everlasting God,
 the Creator of all the earth.


He never grows weak or weary.
 No one can measure the depths of his understanding.

He gives power to the weak
 and strength to the powerless.

Even youths will become weak and tired
 and young men will fall in exhaustion.

But those who trust in the Lord will find new strength.

They will soar high on wings like eagles.
 They will run and not grow weary.


They will walk and not faint.   Isaiah 40:28-31

 

And so, I go to sleep tonight knowing where the kids are (thanks to the Find Friends App) and knowing the dog’s bowels have moved.

I pray for my sleeping husband that works hard for our family.

I pray for my girl that no longer yells out to me when she feels the need to throw up.

I pray for the daughter that lives too far away to sleep with me “just tonight.”

And I pray for the daughter that tends to her own daughter in the middle of the night.

Take heart mamas and papas. Remember to chuckle in the chaos because it’s better than crying in the chaos.