Life is about poop.

Some deep transcendental contemplation about life (which always happens cutting the grass) has led me to this conclusion: everywhere you turn, whatever the subject, however pristine your surroundings may seem, life is to some extent about poop. Think about it.

In your back yard, there is the dog poop you’re mowing over because that seems easier than picking it up. But this doesn’t really make sense, because you’re using the mulch setting on the lawnmower and it really just takes a well-formed pile and blows it up into a nastier mess. But at least you feel like you’re taking care of the poop problem.

Then there’s the issue of your dog rolling in his own poop, which is something you don’t realize until he’s reclining on your couch and you ask, for about 30 minutes, “Why does it smell like poop in here?” Only at that point do you realize that he is covered in his own excrement and is simultaneously lounging on your couch. Go back to the yard, where all the mown poop is and wash your dog off with the hose. As you make your way out the back door, observe  sprayed spot on carpet where dog pooped last night because you forgot to let him out.

Feeling like life is just so dang poopy, you pick up your infant (note, this will not alleviate any feelings of poop-overwhelmedness), only to realize that his entire backside is soaked in freshly pumped poop. Change outfit (or for husbands, hand baby to wife), wash hands, and breastfeeding mothers, stop eating eggs, milk, and all dairy because it makes your precious one’s exploding poop smell like sulfur.

Put kids to nap. As only a father could do, totally ignore the advice your wife gave you before she left and let your potty-training toddler go without a pull-up during nap time. After trying to clean up the poopy mess with 25 baby wipes, rush to the shower and hose him down before your wife finds the evidence (this is futile. She will find out. She is a mother and she will either notice that there is one too many of the 250 pull-ups in the drawer, or she will smell the poop from the driveway and know which kid did it. Yes, she is that good.)

You try to escape the poop, thinking that the “adults” at work will provide just the break. You step out your door, over the pile of soiled diapers sitting next to the trashcan. However it is there that you must “put on hip-waiters to stand in others’ poop,” and you are told 50 times from your boss that “the [poop] rolls down hill,” which is code for “you’re being asked to implement a new procedure that makes no sense whatsoever, but it came from the top so do it and like it.” It is here that people keep telling you “the poop is piled higher and deeper,” and here that you have to clean the toilet because grown adults are about as good as my two-year-old at hitting the mark.

Life is about poop, there’s no getting away from it. But one small thought about this kind of puts it all in perspective:

“Where there are no oxen, the manger is clean, but abundant crops come by the strength of the ox” (Proverbs 14:4).

Moral of the story: life would be a lot cleaner without all the people in life who make messes (including us), but without those people we wouldn’t get to enjoy the reward of having them around—things like making money at work and enjoying the fruit of raising children. No mess, no reward.

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