First day

Sunday was a big day for the Munchkin. She talked about it for weeks.

“Mommy, I going to start Sunday School.”

“Daddy, I going to start Sunday School.”

“Grandma, I going to start Sunday School.”

She even told the Captain when he last called from Iraq. She was so pumped about it. She would say it to me when she first woke up. She would remind me about it at random times during the day. I had to show her the adorable corduroy dress (with matching socks and hairbows) that I bought for her at Gymboree, and the new shoes that her Grandma gave her that she would wear on her first day.

And when the day came, she was ready. She marched into that Sunday School classroom and didn’t look back. I gave her a hug and a kiss, but she barely noticed me. When I picked her up between services for the back-to-school ceremony (complete with balloon release) that they had on the front lawn, it was only the lure of cookies that got her out of the classroom.

My mother was in raves over how cute she looked, and how she had behaved so well during singing time, and had actually sung along with the other kids (my mother leads singing time for the preschool during the first service). My mother also said that the Munchkin had made 3 potty runs during the class, but that nothing had happened. The Munchkin got an apple juice box and some Nutter Butters, released her balloon, and then finished her snack and went back to class for the second service. The Webmaster and I had been in the nursery with Tad during the first service, helping watch the small kids, so we actually went to the church service at the 10:30 hour.

During the sermon, the nursery pager began to thrum in the Webmaster’s pocket. He handed it to me and I hastily exited, as the Webmaster muttered, “I bet Tad blew out of his diaper.”

When I got to the nursery, it wasn’t Tad who needed help. I was met by family friend C., who teaches the pre-kindergarten class during the 10:30 service. “There’s been a bit of the accident with the Munchkin, and her teacher needs your help cleaning her up,” she told me. She and I went to the women’s bathroom to find the Munchkin absolutely smeared in poop from the waist down, and her poor teacher trying to clean her up.

Apparently, the teacher smelled that something was rotten in the state of Denmark, and when it wasn’t L. (the only other kid in the class during the second service), she took the Munchkin to the bathroom. But by then it was too late, and when the teacher tried to pull off the very full Pull-Up, it was poop, poop everywhere. On the floor. All over the Munchkin’s dress. Down her legs. On her socks. On her shoes. On the bottoms of her shoes, because she’d walked through some of it.

I had grabbed the diaper bag from the nursery, and I took over the very smelly clean-up from the poor teacher. I ended up stripping the Munchkin completely naked, and, thanks to my well-stocked diaper bag, washing her off with a pre-soaped disposable washcloth in the sink and drying her off with an old receiving blanket. Fortunately, I had a change of clothes in the diaper bag for her – a red cotton shirt with matching red shorts – and with a fresh Pull-Up, I sent her back to class barefoot (sorry, I don’t carry extra socks and shoes in the diaper bag to – the thing is heavy enough as it is!).

I felt bad for the Munchkin. She had tried so hard to go, but it just hadn’t happened, and then it had become a mess beyond her control. I spent the rest of the service with Tad in the nursery, washing out the Munchkin’s clothes and wiping off her shoes as best as I could before wrapping the whole mess up in plastic bags and waiting until I got home to run a load of laundry.

The Webmaster met me at the nursery door. “How bad was it?” he asked, still thinking that it had been Tad.

I showed him the sack of wet soiled clothes, and his jaw dropped. “The Munchkin???” he exclaimed.

Fortunately, I was able to tell my Dad about the mess in the bathroom, and he promised me that he would get it cleaned up properly. It’s a good thing that it was his granddaughter who made the mess, because then he doesn’t mind cleaning it up as much. Everything else came out in the wash, and the Webmaster cleaned off her shoes and they’re as good as new.

Later that evening, I asked the Munchkin about her first day at Sunday School. “I have fun, Mommy,” she said excitedly. Then she got really quiet. “Mommy, I go poop at Sunday School.”

“Yes, Munchkin, I know.”

She nodded solemnly. “Mommy, I was naughty.”

I was totally shocked. “Oh, no, Munchkin, you weren’t naughty!” I exclaimed. I reassured her that it had been an accident, that Mommy wasn’t mad at her, and that she wasn’t naughty at all for having an accident. I even sang the chorus from “Accidents Happen” to comfort her (curse you, Elmo!!!). I could tell that she felt better after that.

And she can’t wait for next Sunday, and the chance to go back to Sunday School again. And I can’t wait to take her.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, September 13th, 2006 at 1:21 am and is filed under Children, From the Church Front.
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