I came in to work last night, and discovered that one of the kids had a smear-fest in the quiet room. He had been in there for half an hour, smearing his feces all over the wall, the one window, himself, etc. It stunk royally. So I had the unenviable job of helping him clean it after he de-escalated. This pretty much means I cleaned it myself. It ook nearly three hours to get all of the shit from the walls, floors, and window. It took him thirty minutes in the shower to get it off his body.

Apparently, the kid blew out because he was being consequenced too often. I guess he hadn't gone in the bathroom (number 2) in a while, so instead of peeing on himself, or threatening to harm himself, or even going off on a unintelligable rap (which he usually does), he decided to make play-dough figures with his shit. Ah, the life of a group home counselor. Needless to say, when I got home, I scrubbed myself down like an ER surgeon.

Of course, the kid was as cordial and sweet as ever in the morning. It's like Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Moments like this sometimes make me question why I do what I do. But, I am confident that I am in the right line of work because I can take a lot of abuse, and still deal out my fair share of love to these kids. I don't think too many people can perform my job, so I find solace in knowing that my kids have me to love them, and that I won't be going anywhere.