For the first year, I was not overly emotional (read; sobbing like a person who doesn’t know her hormones are out of whack because she’s over 35 and refuses to have blood work done because she faints when she drives past the clinic) at our school’s end-of-year outdoor celebration, Drum Fest.
It wasn’t because my kids weren’t just as shockingly wonderful as years prior. Or because the weather was perfect or because once again we felt the giant hug from a fabulous community cheering on all of the children in this non-competitive finale to another great school year.
I think it’s because Chloe told me the second after we set up our camping chairs, “I have a poop in my diaper. Change me in the car.”
I did no such thing.
I changed her on the soccer field next to the stage filled with drums and sat next to a steaming bag of hot feces sometimes directly on top of my open toed shoes for the entire show. It wasn’t nausea but something in that bag really spoke to me, lightened the mood.
Once again, you stole the show.