recapping how god prepared me for the soccer field poop debacle by sending a flood... of urine.

I just realized that my last post might have sounded disrespectful to Stephanie-freaking-Nielson and Mormonism. But I didn't mean it that way. I think Mrs. Nielson is about the most inspirational person on the internets, mostly because in many of her pictures Nicholas has big green boogers on his nose, a lot like my Hane looks 97% of the time. And her dog poops on the floor in their house, like my blessed Isabelle the cat does (but not since the unfortunate couch incident). And her Jane, who has to be about the same age as my Miss A, lays on the floor screaming, which is familiar in some way but I just can't put my finger on why.

Anyway, plane crash aside, she takes these not-awesome things and she somehow makes them lovely.

Re: converting, I did seriously look into it but it isn't for me.

I call her Stephanie-freaking-Nielson because she's like a blog rock star.

*****
So. I don't have my mojo back today. I feel like crap, possibly related to eating cookies and not exercising. I was doing so well and felt just fantastic until we went away on our little anniversary overnight celebration thingie. Then I ate cake and drank champagne and fell back into the mire of slothfulness.

*****

I'm vaguely depressed and want to write about how I wish I could lay in the sun at the park all day, reading a book. But instead, I'll regale you with a little ditty about last Saturday's soccer games.

Once again, Haney was less than excited about soccer practice, mostly because the older kids play on the playground while she is expected to run around kicking a ball, and she can do that in our living room. Why the hell would she want to do it out in the cold and wind in front of a bunch of strangers and a little boy who beats up all the other 3 year olds? (I alternately feel sorry for his mom, and think "WTF??" But I think feeling sorry for her is the right choice.)

So after I spent an hour dancing around Haney's soccer field like an idiot, trying to infuse her with my enthusiasm, it was time for the boys' game. And for the first time, Phe decided to play. He participated fully, kicked the ball into the net, took a turn as goalie, and overall made me so proud. Then afterward he said the adorable thing I blogged here about his heart smiling.

But while the boys were playing, Haney announced she had to pee. Her bladder is probably the size of a thimble, and she had passed the time drinking from one of our water bottles, so I believed her. There was one port-a-potty a bajillion miles away, so I took her into the woods and weeds, and held  her while she wee'd onto the ground. It was awesome. We high-fived.

Not long after, she insisted she had to pee again. I was pretty sure she just enjoyed the wind on her bottom, so I said no. Soon after, she peed her pants.

So I'm on the soccer field, a quadrillion miles from the car. She's fully suited up in cleats, shin guards, socks she could use as a Christmas stocking, etc. And she's wet.

I consulted my "One Fine Day" bag (my purse, it is huge) and found a very used pair of Dora panties. They were very used as a kleenex, not as panties. Or undies. Or whatever doesn't make you squeamish, because I love you, blog world. Anyhoo, they were REALLY crusty because Haney's nose had been going Nickelodeon slime on me and I didn't have actual paper tissues.

That was all my Mini-van McGuyver bag yielded, but sometimes McGuyver doesn't have a paperclip, and he has to make a bomb with only an apple and a rubber band. He doesn't sweat it. Such was my challenge on Saturday.

Using her soccer t-shirt as cover, I stripped Haney from the waist down. I forced her into the crusty Dora snot-panties. I put her socks back on and pulled them up as high as I could, so people might think she was wearing leggings or tights, or maybe they'd think her mom was into the "slutty toddler" look and put her in thigh-highs. Then I tied her wet pants and panties into a hobo pack.

That was the wake-up call I needed to get my bag back in "One Fine Day" condition. I imagine God sent that pee accident just so I'd be prepared for the poop incident on Wednesday, as He sent the flood before... the shit storm of Sodom and Gomorrah? Let's not delve too deeply into the theology of this event. Instead, let us give thanks that I was prepared on Wednesday and didn't have to leave my toddler poop on school grounds moments after flinging dog poop in the direction of a guilty-looking dog owner. (Because that might just be how his face looks.)