The second incident of feces painting wasn’t discovered until later in the day that it happened, unfortunately. I had purchased tickets to take all the children to a play at a local theatre. So we all got dressed up, ate a quick breakfast and headed out the door in kind of a hurry. We all enjoyed the play; I think it was about famous American women, so we were in rather high spirits. We stopped off at McDonald’s for lunch on the way home and the day was going great.

Well, as usual, I headed for the laundry room to start a load of laundry. That’s when I found the painting in all of its glory. Spread in lovely chocolate swirls all over the textured plaster wall, again. Only this time there was an added bonus. She had left her underwear wide open on top of the dirty clothes pile with a solid pieces of feces in them. No denying who was the culprit this time.

Again, I just couldn’t believe that a young lady would want to go out in public without showering after such an incident. I asked her about that and she said that she had washed off with a washcloth. I’m afraid that I was unable to hide my utter disgust and repulsion. I had heard a 100 times at least, not to take these behaviors personally. I had also been told many times not to react to outrageous behavior. Once the child knows what really upsets you, she’s got you wrapped around their finger. By overreacting, I practically asked her to do it again.

I sent her into the laundry room with her bucket of soapy water and scrub brush again. Plus she had to rinse her underwear in the toilet several times to get them clean. She, of course, showed no reaction to any of this. She even had the nerve to ask me what I was going to make for supper that night. In hindsight, now ten years later, I know I handled it very badly. I got angry, I yelled, I must have looked like some kind of idiot.

I have had other children paint with feces since then. I just smile and hand them the bucket and scrub brush and let them clean at their own pace. When they are finished I send them off to the shower, and tell them that they’ve lost their treat for that night. Then I call one of my foster or adoptive friends and rant and rave to them, out of ear shot of the culprit. I’ve learned my lesson. Never, let the child know that their outrageous behavior has upset you. I almost hate to admit to you that I felt a strange form of justice, the first time an adoptive parent called in hysterics because her child had painted feces, and I said the words, “Did you make her clean it up,yet?”