Several years ago, my daughter-in-law, Lisa needed time to go Christmas shopping. She had two active pre-school boys and couldn’t find a babysitter. I said, “Lisa, I don’t have anything to do this afternoon; I’ll watch the boys, and you go to the mall.” “Really?” she asked, with some degree of uncertainty. “I’ll need to be gone at least three hours. They can be a handful, you know.” I assured her that it would be no problem. “I’ll take care of them, and you just go do your shopping.” That was one of the more naïve things I’ve ever said.

Lisa decided to take me up on the offer, gave me a few last minute instructions, and left. All of a sudden I felt very alone and uncertain. How do you entertain two lively (euphemism for “hyperactive”) boys? Andy was four years old, Chapman was one and just beginning to walk. I thought, “I know what I’ll do. I’ll get out that toy train set and put it together around the Christmas tree in the family room of our finished basement. They’ll love that, and it will occupy their attention for a while. Plus, it’s something we can enjoy doing together.”

I found the train, took the miniature cars out of the box, and assembled the track as they watched. But when I carefully began setting the train on the track, Chapman stumbled and stomped on the engine breaking off one of its fragile front wheels. So much for entertaining them with the train.

Just then Andy blurted out, “Pee-yew Chapman! You’ve got a stinky diaper! Pee-yew, that really stinks!” I quickly picked up Chapman and carried him by his underarms into the half bath in our basement and discovered Andy had understated the disaster. Wow! It was all over him! I sat him on the edge of the toilet and tried to keep him from falling in while removing the diaper and working to wipe 90% of his body clean. It was awful!

I barked at Andy to run upstairs and get the diaper bag his mother had left in case of such an emergency. He got to the top of the basement steps and called back, “Pop, the door is locked. I can’t get out.” For some reason when we built our house, the lock was put on the upstairs-side of the basement door. That lock made it possible to accidentally lock people in the basement, keeping them from getting out. But it had never happened before, and not only were we locked in the basement there was no one within shouting distance.

Suddenly it hit me, “We’re locked in the basement, and there’s no way out- not even a window. What if there’s a fire? What if one of us has a heart attack? What if one of us wants to give up and run away? We’re doomed until Lisa comes back. We’re trapped! And it really stinks down here!”

But first things first. I’ve got to clean up this toddler with no diaper to protect him. I did my best and then pulled his corduroy pants up around his waist. At that point, he gave me the strangest look as if I didn’t know what I was doing. I said, “Chap, that’s the best I can do. You’re going to have to go commando the rest of the afternoon. After all, it’s your fault.”

If that weren’t bad enough, four-year-old Andy kept questioning me in such a way as to make me feel totally inadequate. “Pop, he needs a diaper. You don’t just pull his pants up with no diaper. He may wet his pants.” “Pop how come you can’t unlock the door from this side?” “We’re going to need something to eat.” I was feeling really insecure and pretty stupid.

Although I had never tried it before, I found a paper clip and within a few minutes was successful in picking the lock. I then got a diaper and managed to put it on somewhat after a few failed attempts. I took the soiled diaper out to the dumpster. After all of that, I reverted to entertaining two preschoolers in a means which I had warned against in sermons. I turned on the cartoon network and let them be indoctrinated by whatever was showing. I was a hypocrite, but at that point, I didn’t much care. They sat quietly and didn’t demand my constant attention.

My daughter-in-law returned in three hours. I was never so glad to see her. I had a new appreciation for mothers who have little children to feed, change, entertain, and discipline twenty-four hours a day. What a demanding task! It’s so time-consuming, frustrating, and messy!

I remembered the limerick:

“I’ve seen the lights of Paris,
I’ve seen the lights of Rome.
But the greatest lights I’ve ever seen,
Are the taillights taking my grandchildren home!”

Dads, have you ever thought about how hard it is to be a mother 24 hours a day, seven days a week? What it’s like to change putrid diapers, try to repair broken toys, feed squirming babies who spit half of it on the front of their shirt, or try to prevent four-year-olds from hitting baby brother on the head with a miniature ball bat?

Ann Voskamp wrote, “Believing in the miracle of metamorphosis is the sum total of a mother’s job. The theological term for that is faith. To have faith that the baby in arms will become toilet-trained before 18, that the cocky juvenile hipster with the big attitude will become the concerned citizen with a baby on the hip, and big heart on the sleeve and that kid who can never find his shoes or matching socks or math homework will be able to find a girlfriend, a job and Jesus…. Mothers were made to have faith.”

And mothers were made to work hard and “not grow weary in doing good.” So dads and granddads, be thankful today for the women in your life who are doing their best to be Godly mothers 24 hours a day. If you don’t think it’s demanding and frustrating, try babysitting by yourself just one afternoon.

“…may she who gave you birth be joyful” (Proverbs 23:25).

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