Today’s Agenda:

  • Place: Columbus Museum of Art
  • Time: 1pm
  • Activity: Family Adventure Time

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is a scavenger hunt through the museum designed for families with children of multiple ages.

And I accepted the mission. After all, there are no current admission fees.

When you have seven kids, “free” is good.

However.

Once travelling along the tour, docent in place, I smelled something. Rather strong. And I immediately knew:

This is not good.

Sweet Tessa baby had decided to unleash her fury in the form of bodily function. And her diaper decided to be somewhat uncooperative. Well, more than somewhat. Fully uncooperative.

I quietly ask the docent where the restroom is, thankful that Aunt MaryBeth was on this trip and I might have the chance to make a quick diaper change. But I was given the news:

I’m sorry. There is no restroom on this floor.

So fearing the results of Baby T’s diaper wrath, I quickly spotted what appeared to be a leather chair (Thank you, Lord, for the animal who sacrificed his hide to produce this chair.) And I gingerly lifted my precious bundle of joy out of her seat, only to discover the reason for her joy was that her tummy had to be feeling much better in its empty state.

This conclusion was drawn based on the fullness of not only her diaper, her shorts, and her seat, but also the drippage from the car seat down to the actual stroller seat.

Quickly I cleaned her up and continued on Family Adventure Time.

About this time, my dear husband texted me:

How’s the museum?

My reply:

Well, Tessa decided to explode and there is no restroom. Had to change her on some artsy fartsy chair. Guess that was abstractly appropriate.

Him:

Cool. We can call it “Fecal Essence.”

You can’t make this stuff up, People.

If you read my blog, you know I really try to make a spiritual application from our journey through life. God teaches me so many great lessons through my children.

But the best Scripture I could cling to today:

Phil. 3:13

Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a stroller to clean.

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