This post is vulgar, but sometimes so is life and I refuse to edit.

After spending a few relaxing nights away camping, we came home to find a big pile of dog poop in Anthony's room. I suppose I need to be honest; it was several piles of dog poop (of the loose variety). The bonus was that Anthony's room was already strewn with papers and pencils and Legos and clothes, the result of me telling him for the past three months that I wasn't going to pick up his mess and then him sweetly telling me back that it didn't bother him at all to live in a state of utter chaos, and then me saying fine with me, I couldn't care less how messy it gets in there, but then really going into my room and screaming into a pillow.

You would think seeing his toys covered in dog excrement would upset him, but I think he was secretly thinking how well this worked out for him since now I had no choice but to pick up his room. There's something quite humbling and completely insane about a grown woman crawling around on her knees with a breathing mask on, cleaning up after a dog, a creature that I'm pretty sure was never meant to live in-doors in the first place.

Thankfully I've been a mom for nearly fifteen years, so I'm well acquainted with crap in all its forms, both human and non, and no job is too tough for me. I've had so much experience in all of this that I made up a little diddy a while back that helps me get through the whole process of picking up the kinds of things that would have been better left in a toilet or dumpster, rather than on floors and walls and underwear. Admittedly, the song is heavy on the words piss and shit and it goes something like this...Piss and shit, piss and shit, I'm gonna clean me some piss and shit, piss and shit in the morning! The word morning can be changed to evening, depending on what time of day it is. I just repeat it over and over in my mind until I start laughing, which only takes a couple of seconds.

Of course my intention on Sunday morning was to get home from camping, take a shower and get myself to Mass. I kept looking at the clock in Greg's truck thinking about the spectacular time we were making. But you know what they say about the best laid plans. As I was telling Jane all of this while she watched me pick up Buster's poop (and really, is there anything better than having someone watch you pick up dog poop while you nearly gag to the point of puking, all the while the person repeating to you, "I wonder when he did it, I wonder how long it's been there for, do you think it's been there long mommy?") she said to me, "That's okay mommy, God knew you had good intentions of getting to church today. He won't be mad." To which I could only smile and say thanks. As a mother I've learned to find God wherever I have to, including on my hands and knees picking up dog do do while listening to me sweet daughter reassure me things are just fine with me and my maker.

And in case you're wondering, yes, I ended up having a spectacular day, despite its beginnings.