The Joys of Children (that aren't even mine.)

This week the camp is at full capacity for the first time, and there were an abundance of three year-olds, so the entire age-group idea got thrown off. This week I have mostly three-year-olds, and I can already tell this is going to much different. For example....

Yesterday.... My little girls were coloring quietly on the floor, when one of them says ... "It smells stinky in here" ... I thought nothing of it because our room always always always smells bad. But then my fill-in-co-counsler came back from the bathroom and was like, yeah "there's something potent in here." We narrowed it down to one of a few little boys. Then one started sort of holding on down in the back if you know what I mean... I knew we had our culprit.

I took him to the bathroom and told him to go to the bathroom... he pulled down his pants and there was stuff EVERYWHERE. I tried to go in the stall to help him, and I gagged. I pulled myself together and went back. I gagged, and gagged, and gagged. I gagged so much my eyes were watering. I went back to the Tromper Room to tell Sarah I just couldn't do it.

I realized though as headed back to the room that no one else was going to be able to do it, so  I must do. I made a plan of attack. I found a pair of gloves. I found some baby wipes. I found a garbage bag, and went back!

I went back into the bathroom, and the little one would not let me back into the stall. The conversation went something like this:

"I locked you out."

"I know you did now let me in."

"You can't come in."

"Okay ..... let me in now."

"You can't come in. You're scared."

"What am I scared off?"

"You can't come in because you're scared of dragons." (yes he said dragons...)

etc. etc.

After some coaxing, he EVENTUALLY let me in, so I took him to the handicap stall and got to work. His pants were still down, but there was, for lack of a better word, poo (you all know I despise the words poo and pee... but since all of the children use it these days .. I've had to resort to such crude terms) all up and down his legs. It got in his shirt and on his pants. I made him strip out of his pants and underwear then quickly bagged the offending smell and under-roos up and threw them in the corner. I started wiping him down. My baby wipes were all dried out, so I had to wet them down first, so I had to keep making trips to the sink. I got him resonably cleaned up, and left with no other options... I put him underwearless back in his pants. We then put on his shoes and socks and he went back to playing in the room.. No big deal.

 What a day eh?

I never thought I'd say it, but I miss my four-year-olds! (Just to clarify -- I do love my job. I don't know why, but I do! ... At the time this event was rather traumatic, but now just a great story!)