Every now and then I start to wonder about life.  Not so much about mine, not so much about yours, but about life as it is general.  I was driving home around half past noon.  The same way, the same way always.  But, at high noon, in the middle of summer, some things look crisper, some things look duller.

An old house, small on a big lot of full of dry grass, looked crisper.  It is quite old.  Its lack of size dates it to a time when big things did not matter; the chipped white paint and a shutter hanging by only a single brace also dates it to time’s past.

As if the perfectly centered sun in the sky illuminated only the house itself, I took a good long look at it.  There were four vehicles lining the dirt driveway.  All, too, were from a different time than the one I find myself in the throws of.  One word came to me, one word for the house, the land, and the vehicles.  Neglect. 

Judging by the design of the vehicles, such material treasures would have been popular in the late seventies, early eighties at the latest.  Coupled with the house, the era made sense.  Only after this time did size start to matter so much.  Only after this time was it inconceivable to not have separate rooms for each child and their toys. 

What was the property like, then, in the late seventies?  Full of energy, vibrancy, meaning?  And if so, what had happened in the interim?  Some could say life happened.  Some could say it was simply time.  I, myself, did not stop to ponder as much.  As with a great many things in this world, I inevitably come to the point where I ask, “Will this happen to me?”

Will my home succumb to just passing one day to another for the next thirty years?  Will such be a reflection of my life and attitudes?  Another word came to me.  Complacency.  It usually predicates neglect, does it not?  And a step further in that direction is pride.  

My imagination, overactive to be sure, started to put together a story behind the little old house and the vehicles so untouched their windows were caked with dry dust from year after year of fall breezes. 

A family.  Father works hard, mother raises children.  Most did in those times.  There was always enough money.  Enough for the cars, enough for the food, enough for the heat in the dead of winter, and a little extra for a brand new pair of roller skates at Christmas.  But faith was misplaced.  It was put in the now, the have to haves, and of course, their youth. 

And yes, life happened.  Time happened.  Pride, then complacency, then neglect.  And finally, the warning.  Best transcribed by Solomon for his closing remarks in Ecclesiastes:

“Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth,
  Before the difficult days come,
  And the years draw near when you say,
  I have no pleasure in them”

           * * *
  “Then the dust will return to the earth as it was,
  And the spirit will return to God who gave it.
   “Vanity of vanities,” says the Preacher,
   “All is vanity.”

        & nbsp;   * * *

“Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter:

 Fear God and keep His commandments,
 For this is man’s all.
 For God will bring every work into judgment,
 Including every secret thing,
 Whether good or evil.”

        & nbsp;       &n bsp;       &nb sp;       &nbs p;   Ecclesiastes 12:1, 7-8, 13-14

larger view

When you know the difference between plagiocephaly and craniosynostosis before your baby is six months old, you've earned it.

When you know three different ways to cure diaper rash, you've earned it.

When you take the time to draw a happy face out of ketchup for a corn dog, you've earned it.

When you know the only option of carpet color is anything dark, you've earned it.

When you sacrifice clean for clean enough, you've earned it.

When you can bite your tongue when a window gets broken, you've earned it.

When you designate one thermometer in the house to be the rectal thermometer, you've earned it.

When someone in your household misappropriates the rectal thermometer and uses it to take their temperature orally, they've earned it. 

Go ahead, call yourself a parent, you've earned it!

larger view

Ethan's been potty trained for almost two years now but recently we've been working on him doing the, well...um...the wiping.  I should say, however, that we were working on the wiping.  After a few botched attempts I told Ethan we would go back to Mommy doing it and try again next month. 

But he wouldn't have any of it.  Thus, he makes secret trips to the bathroom to hone in on his skills and only calls on me when he's tired of trying to get the job done.  Usually, the aftermath is nothing bad at all.  But today, oh dear Lord, today was utterly unspeakable. 

The toilet seat was....  And in between the sheets of the roll of toilet paper....  He told me he had stuck his finger in....  I had to wipe down his lower back....  Unspeakable things.  Such unspeakable things. 

The climax of it all was the very poor timing of serving him a piece of chocolate frosted cake immediately prior.  There was a certain smudge below his bottom lip.  As we were washing his hands I asked, "Is that poop or chocolate by your mouth?"  The child proceeded to stick his tongue out and lick at the smudge with both a look of necessity and hesitation until he smiled and said, "Nah.  It's just chocolate."

Thank God for small miracles, thank God it was just chocolate.  The only thing left from the debacle is trying to strategize a plan of anti-bacterial attack for that toilet seat.  Otherwise, I'm afraid I will never use it again.