The REAL Water Boy

I’m pretty sure my boys are destined to be excellent gardeners.  Between the two of them, they have managed to fertilize nearly every tree in every park in our hometown.

Their fertilizer of choice is not Miracle-Grow but rather the much cheaper product: Very Organic Choice Fertilizer.

It never fails, we get to the park de jour and all four kids topple out of the van like a posse of clowns spilling out of a tiny circus car.  A picnic lunch is carefully arranged on a blanket in the grass (then trampled and inhaled by hungry children) and just as the last juice box is sucked dry, one of the boys begins to hop up and down in a well-known performance called the “Pee-Pee Dance”.

“Mommy, me has to go PEE-PEE!!”

Rare are the occasions we are at one of the few parks in our town that have splurged for a restroom in addition to the fancy playground equipment and it is at that moment that I think, “There were perks to the diaper days!”

So, long ago, I told my sons, “If you really, really have to go and there is no restroom, find a big tree with no people around and go Pee-Pee there…if you MUST.”

Since that day, it seems little moons (and I’m NOT referring to the one hanging in the sky) have been shining from tree to fertilized tree.  Every time I turn around at a park now, one boy is going down a slide and the other boy is swinging out his little gun behind a giant oak and finding his target.  In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if there is some boy-joy to be had in taking a whiz in the great outdoors.

Today topped all Very Organic Choice Fertilizer moments when we were finishing up a family picnic of Domino’s pizza (gotta love easy!) at a local park and the boys darted off to squeeze in as much play time as possible before it was time to leave.  As my husband and I were heading over with the girls in tow to check on Gideon and Judah, a friend from our church waved at us as she jogged over from the tennis courts.

Just as she was shouting, “Hey Coles!”, another smaller and more familiar voice piped up as a three-year-old with his pants around his ankles waddled into view, “I had to go pee-pee but then I went a little poo-poo, Mommy!”

Oh, how I longed to hide under a pile of wood chips at that moment.  And thank you, God, for coordinating the universe to allow someone from our church to witness this event that would be embarrassing even if only random cars driving past the park noticed it.

“Don’t mind my son,”  I hollered to our friend, “He’s just fertilizing the woodchips!”

My other son assured me (rather loudly) the damage had been contained: nothing had left the building (if you get my drift) so I armed myself with a pile of mother’s magic-towels (I.e., wet-wipes) and with a few swipes, his little bum was squeaky clean again.

In spite of turning various shades of red, I couldn’t suppress a chuckle as I thought about the funny way life turns out sometimes.  I also thought to myself there are two things I’m going to have to learn about parenting if I want to survive:

1.  I can’t find my identity in my children.  They are who they are.  My identity is who I am in Christ.  I will do my darndest with the power of Christ to make them the best little people they can be but their little shoulders can’t support the weight of MY identity and pride.  While God works on removing that yucky pride from my life, He may sometimes use them to remind me I need to always find my identity in Him alone.

And, this one I’m actually looking forward to:

2.  My kids may sometimes embarrass me when they are young but baby, payback is coming.  Let me sum it up in two delightful words: teenage years.  I’m saving the pictures, my little Very Organic Choice Fertalizer Boys!!

Man, I love those boys!