Our church’s preschool has a kid-sized bathroom—little toilet, low sink—that Annalie loves to use. She resists most of the time anyone suggests a trip to the bathroom, unless it’s a trip to the kids’ bathroom at church.

Sunday morning I took her to use the kids’ bathroom before church started. It happens to be in the part of the preschool that doubles as the nursery on Sunday mornings, so when we got in there Annalie forgot all about the bathroom and made a beeline for the babydolls. Melanie, one of the two teenagers on nursery duty, asked if I was dropping Annalie off. I said we were only there for the bathroom.

Kristine, the other teenager, informed us that the bathroom was occupied. “In fact,” she said, “he’s been in there a while.”

Kris went over to the bathroom door and knocked. “Jon, are you okay in there?” She opened the door to hear his response better, and we heard a muffled exclamation. She turned her head to inform Melanie and me that Jon had…uh…had an explosive bowel movement. She turned her head back to the opening and asked Jon if he had a tummyache? If he needed help?

Apparently he did need some help, because Kris turned back around and said, “Mel, get over here! He needs help!”

Melanie laughed and shook her head. “That’s not my job! Where did his mom go? She was here a minute ago.”

Kris replied, “I don’t know! It’s not my job either! Get over here!”

I am sure one of them would have helped Jon if I hadn’t been there, as they are both lovely people and great with kids. Since I was there, I mentally sighed and took pity on Melanie and Kristine, remembering well what my reaction to such a thing would have been when I was a childless 15-year-old. Somehow, once you’re a mom and you’ve wiped your own kid’s bottom for three (or four, or five) years (take heed, parents-to-be: your wiping duties do not end with potty-training), it’s hard to get worked up about wiping another kid’s bottom occasionally.

And it makes for a funny story.

*All names have been changed to protect the innocent. :-)