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Posts Tagged ‘Holy Poop’

At least once a day I look at you and say, “Where did you come from?”. Things that prompt this question besides the above photo, are you standing around in nothing but your underwear, swaying your hips sassily and singing your own little song with your own made up words, like, “I go pee-pee in da pottyyyyy, so I got a jelly beeeeeean… KACHOW!”

Speaking of the potty, you did have a poop breakthrough this month. We were at Old Navy and I don’t know if I just caught you at an opportune time or what but when I sat you on the toilet you peed and then pooped in somewhere other than your underpants for the first time in 4 weeks. Son, I almost cried I was so happy. Since that day you’ve been about half and half, so definitely progress. You accept diapers at nap and bedtime but otherwise won’t wear them at all anymore.

The spring brought us t-shirt weather and when I put on your first short sleeved shirt in months you kept trying to pull down the sleeves. It was hilarious, like a spastic dog trying to chase his own tail.

Bubbles are WHERE IT IS AT for you. And where the bubbles are at, is all over the driveway, your shirt, down your pants and in your mouth. You are a sticky mess when you are through but the happiness they bring you is worth it. Most of the time, anyway.

The amazing bubble maker machine that you've already managed to damage in an effort to figure out just how it made all those freakin bubbles.

Your sister has become your friend this month and it is the sweetest damn thing I have ever seen. You have played side by side and occasionally together before, but this month you two developed your own games, and inside jokes- giving me The Look when I interfere, Like DO NOT BUG US NOW- “we are being little birds in a tree who are orphans” so GO AWAY. You butt heads often enough, when you don’t want to play Rowan’s game or when she takes your prized ice cream truck but I am amazed at how much you genuinely like each other. I knew there was a pay off to having 2+ kids, I just didn’t realize it would be this stinking sweet.

It was your turn to count during hide and seek, but you were totally cheating. Yep. That's mama's boy.

Something that we’ve always known about you but now it seems really pronounced is your short attention span. Rowan has always been able to sit and color a picture until she is done, or engage herself in painting or make-believe play for long stretches but you take two swipes with a paint brush and declare your masterpiece done. I’m a little perplexed at how in that 30 seconds of painting you somehow manage to cover your entire body in bright green, but I think I’ll just chalk that one up to the mystery that is BOY. And it’s not just art activities. You won’t play in the bath for more than 5-10 minutes, watch a full PBS episode, or sit contentedly while I read more than 2 books- you always have to be moving around. To date, I can only think of 2 things that consistently hold your attention that don’t require motion and that is 1. Snuggling blanky 2. playing with your cars. This isn’t a good or bad trait it is just part of you and it amazes me when I finally pick up on something that’s always been there but I never took the time to notice. Am good mom like that.

Go ahead and ask the internet how mama liked those green hands on her white pants, sir...

You have really blossomed in music class this session, singing along and repeating really tough musical patterns. When I think back to the fall and how you spent that entire 10 week session refusing to sing or even sit in the circle I am AMAZED at your progress. Go you!

When trying to exude charm when sweetly asking for something you always add a “maybe” at the end while looking up with big eyes and giving those long lashes a bat or two. Example: “Can I go to the park, maybe?” *batbat* This is very calculating and has obviously led to lots of trips to the park, for we are suckers.

Can you blame us?

You are much pickier about what you eat, but in turn MUCH more neat which is huge. Except for that entire bowl of soup you dumped in your lap today. Now THAT was messy.

Grammy gave you a little stuffed Tiger for Easter and for whatever reason that has become your second best thing (next to blanky, of course). You have to have him in your arms at night and you bury your face into him as we lay you in your crib. The downside? That would be you and Rowan playing Tiger Toss at the buttcrack of dawn. This entails you throwing the Tiger and your sister stomping across the room to retrieve it, repeated ad nauseum or until your dad or I come up to tell you FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY please go back to sleep.

This month you have started to fight sleep at bedtime. Your afternoon nap has stayed very consistent at between 2 and 3 hours, but after we put you down at night you will chatter your fool little head off for an hour or more. Most of the time we don’t even go in to shush you because it’s very entertaining to listen to your chirpy little voice sprout nonsense and you’re almost always happy so, eh, it’s one of those battles we choose not to fight more often than not.

You've also learned to make this lovely face when I ask you to smile for a picture. Super handsome. It prominently features your chipped front tooth which DON'T ASK because we have no clue as to what happened. Whatever. It adds character, don't you think?

The biggest change we’ve witnessed this month was when we went on our first trail walk with you. Last fall you happily sat in your stroller, content to watch your sister run like a maniac through the grass, but this spring you asked to be let out and you ran happily beside Rowan, letting her instruct you on the proper way to pick dandelions and show you where the “spooky old tree” and “Mr. Gnome” live. You tire a lot easier than she ever did but I can tell how much you enjoy stretching those big boy legs and running, running, running with a grin plastered on your face. Just don’t run too far away from your mama, ya hear? You wouldn’t want her to think you weren’t her baby anymore, now would you? Let her live with her delusions a little while longer, maybe? *batbat*

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At least once a day I look at you and say, “Where did you come from?”. Things that prompt this question besides the above photo, are you standing around in nothing but your underwear, swaying your hips sassily and singing your own little song with your own made up words, like, “I go pee-pee in da pottyyyyy, so I got a jelly beeeeeean… KACHOW!”

Speaking of the potty, you did have a poop breakthrough this month. We were at Old Navy and I don’t know if I just caught you at an opportune time or what but when I sat you on the toilet you peed and then pooped in somewhere other than your underpants for the first time in 4 weeks. Son, I almost cried I was so happy. Since that day you’ve been about half and half, so definitely progress. You accept diapers at nap and bedtime but otherwise won’t wear them at all anymore.

The spring brought us t-shirt weather and when I put on your first short sleeved shirt in months you kept trying to pull down the sleeves. It was hilarious, like a spastic dog trying to chase his own tail.

Bubbles are WHERE IT IS AT for you. And where the bubbles are at, is all over the driveway, your shirt, down your pants and in your mouth. You are a sticky mess when you are through but the happiness they bring you is worth it. Most of the time, anyway.

The amazing bubble maker machine that you've already managed to damage in an effort to figure out just how it made all those freakin bubbles.

Your sister has become your friend this month and it is the sweetest damn thing I have ever seen. You have played side by side and occasionally together before, but this month you two developed your own games, and inside jokes- giving me The Look when I interfere, Like DO NOT BUG US NOW- “we are being little birds in a tree who are orphans” so GO AWAY. You butt heads often enough, when you don’t want to play Rowan’s game or when she takes your prized ice cream truck but I am amazed at how much you genuinely like each other. I knew there was a pay off to having 2+ kids, I just didn’t realize it would be this stinking sweet.

It was your turn to count during hide and seek, but you were totally cheating. Yep. That's mama's boy.

Something that we’ve always known about you but now it seems really pronounced is your short attention span. Rowan has always been able to sit and color a picture until she is done, or engage herself in painting or make-believe play for long stretches but you take two swipes with a paint brush and declare your masterpiece done. I’m a little perplexed at how in that 30 seconds of painting you somehow manage to cover your entire body in bright green, but I think I’ll just chalk that one up to the mystery that is BOY. And it’s not just art activities. You won’t play in the bath for more than 5-10 minutes, watch a full PBS episode, or sit contentedly while I read more than 2 books- you always have to be moving around. To date, I can only think of 2 things that consistently hold your attention that don’t require motion and that is 1. Snuggling blanky 2. playing with your cars. This isn’t a good or bad trait it is just part of you and it amazes me when I finally pick up on something that’s always been there but I never took the time to notice. Am good mom like that.

Go ahead and ask the internet how mama liked those green hands on her white pants, sir...

You have really blossomed in music class this session, singing along and repeating really tough musical patterns. When I think back to the fall and how you spent that entire 10 week session refusing to sing or even sit in the circle I am AMAZED at your progress. Go you!

When trying to exude charm when sweetly asking for something you always add a “maybe” at the end while looking up with big eyes and giving those long lashes a bat or two. Example: “Can I go to the park, maybe?” *batbat* This is very calculating and has obviously led to lots of trips to the park, for we are suckers.

Can you blame us?

You are much pickier about what you eat, but in turn MUCH more neat which is huge. Except for that entire bowl of soup you dumped in your lap today. Now THAT was messy.

Grammy gave you a little stuffed Tiger for Easter and for whatever reason that has become your second best thing (next to blanky, of course). You have to have him in your arms at night and you bury your face into him as we lay you in your crib. The downside? That would be you and Rowan playing Tiger Toss at the buttcrack of dawn. This entails you throwing the Tiger and your sister stomping across the room to retrieve it, repeated ad nauseum or until your dad or I come up to tell you FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY please go back to sleep.

This month you have started to fight sleep at bedtime. Your afternoon nap has stayed very consistent at between 2 and 3 hours, but after we put you down at night you will chatter your fool little head off for an hour or more. Most of the time we don’t even go in to shush you because it’s very entertaining to listen to your chirpy little voice sprout nonsense and you’re almost always happy so, eh, it’s one of those battles we choose not to fight more often than not.

You've also learned to make this lovely face when I ask you to smile for a picture. Super handsome. It prominently features your chipped front tooth which DON'T ASK because we have no clue as to what happened. Whatever. It adds character, don't you think?

The biggest change we’ve witnessed this month was when we went on our first trail walk with you. Last fall you happily sat in your stroller, content to watch your sister run like a maniac through the grass, but this spring you asked to be let out and you ran happily beside Rowan, letting her instruct you on the proper way to pick dandelions and show you where the “spooky old tree” and “Mr. Gnome” live. You tire a lot easier than she ever did but I can tell how much you enjoy stretching those big boy legs and running, running, running with a grin plastered on your face. Just don’t run too far away from your mama, ya hear? You wouldn’t want her to think you weren’t her baby anymore, now would you? Let her live with her delusions a little while longer, maybe? *batbat*

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Well, Internet I have a little time here while the dry clean only drapes from the kids’ room are being laundered by my totally wet clean washer in an attempt to get the poop out, so I thought I’d check in and see how you’re doing.

What’s that?

Yes, I did say poop. And I am not dry cleaning 15 dollar clearance drapes. Especially if I have to tell someone what they have to clean off of them. Well. I guess I’m telling you, but you’re the Internet! You’re like family to me. Or something.

You may have guessed by now that the poop belonged to one Keaton Sir Poopypants, who is having a rather hard time grasping the whole “poop is for the diaper or the potty” concept. He is more like “Yes, it IS for the diaper and the potty… but it is also for the undies, the carpet, the chair, the wall and the drapes. Oh. And my hands, hair and other various body parts.”

There is so much EW in that last paragraph.

When we hit a snag in potty training with Rowan we simply went back to diapers for awhile and tried again in a week or so. The problem here (besides the obvious one of FECES ON MY DRAPERIES) is that the kid is ROCKIN’ the pee-pee in the potty. He goes on his own without much need for reminding and can do so without much, if any, assistance. He’s gotten so reliable I’ve taken him out on short trips in his underoos, and if he needs to go he can hold it until we find a bathroom. He is genuinely excited and proud of himself and I don’t want to take away his precious Lightening McQueen underpants because he loves them with his whole little boy heart and I’m afraid in retaliation he might come after me late one night with a shiv fashioned from his crib bars. I think it goes without saying that I don’t want to be shived by a toddler.

Things I’ve tried?

Glad you asked.

1. Explained to him that if he doesn’t want to go No. 2 in the potty that he can simply ask for a diaper and we will be-fit him with one with which to do his business in. He seems to understand this and every morning when I put him in his undies he says with a big grin “No poo poo in da undawoos!” but alas. There is ALWAYS poo-poo in da undawoos.

2. Preemptively put a diaper on him during the High Pooping Hour (aka 10:30-11:30am). He keeps the diaper on until he has to pee, at which point I take it off and let him sit on the potty. Immediately following peeing on the potty he slips away and poops on the floor. Or puts up a stink about putting the diaper back on so I let him wear the undies which he promptly craps in.

3. Offer his most favorite and most sought after treat of all time: The Piece of Gum. He has attempted to get a piece twice now by trying to transfer the poop from his undies to the potty (via his FINGERS) and saying with a hopeful, smiling face: “I had a good twy though! Can I have a little piece of gum?”

We also have offered to sit with him, leave him alone, let him watch potty videos and read potty books, talk to him about poop (and how we DON’T TOUCH IT WITH OUR HANDS), but everyday, save the two times last week, he does the same thing. And I get that when he makes the big messes it’s not like he is trying to play with it like some sort of poo-flinging primate. He doesn’t like the feel of the poop so he is trying to clean up his own mess by taking off the icky undies and trying to get the poop off of himself.

I’m pretty sure the only solution here is time but ugh! and ew! and I know I signed up for this when I decided to become a parent but man. SO GROSS.

Any new suggestions are so totally welcome. Now I have to go see if my drapes are de-pooped and still real-people-sized after going through the wash.

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*That I can walkerjoggy 15 miles+ in 5 days and live to blog the tale.

* That stretching before running is not, as I previously thought, “for hippies” (no matter that I actually aspire to BE a hippie). Stretching is in fact, something you should probably do before jumping into an exercise regimen after 5 months of sitting on your ass, especially if you don’t like to ask your husband to please help you sit down on the toilet so you can pee.

*That those people who tell you that exercise rejuvenates and energizes you? LIARS TELLING LYING LIES. Exercise makes you tired, dummy. Especially exercise at 6am. I am ready for a nap by Sesame Street.

*That rolling your ass out of bed at 5:55am does not a morning person make. Sure, I do OK once I’m out on the pavement but that’s only because there is no one out there for me to yell at. Well. Except Luna, and she does get a few “OH MY GOD QUIT SNIFFING AND PEE ALREADY” comments but then she just looks up at me like “you’re the dumbass who dragged me off my fluffy pillow and brought me out here. I cannot pee on command. The sniffing is integral. Deal with it.”

*That my husband’s teeth are not made out of titanium or some other genetically altered and enhanced super matter. There was  a period during Bill’s late teens and twenties when he didn’t go to the dentist for nine years. NINE. YEARS. And he is moderately lazy about his dental health, though he had never had so much as a cavity. I finally made him an appointment along with my own and brought him there by knifepoint. I have gone to the dentist every six months for the majority of my life. Guess who walked out of their appointment with 2 cavities. ME. I DID. UN. FAIR. Didn’t they know that I had to remind this man to brush his teeth before he kissed me? WHERE IS THE DENTIST VERSION OF WALKER ,TEXAS RANGER? I wanted justice, dammit.

That was about three or so years ago and Bill has dutifully gone for his cleaning every six months since, not for the good of his oral hygiene, but to rub it in my face that his teeth are invincible masses of all powerful super-bone. Until now, that is. Yesterday Rowan, Bill and I went for our cleanings and guess which one of us has not one, not Two, Not Three, BUT FOUR cavities? That’s right. I could be the bigger person and console the loss of his fake super power of non-cavitious teeth but instead I’m going to do this: HAHAHAHAHAHA.

*That a 30 degree jump in temperature can make all the difference. Feeling the warm sun on the top of my head and my arms just brings life back into me. It happens every spring but never fails to catch me by surprise. I know it’s just a teaser and the warm temps are not here to stay, but still. Hope. And walks. And playgrounds. And Tricycles.

*That Keaton can in fact, poop in the potty. He has been gung-fricken-ho about wearing his big boy underoos and pees in the potty by himself, with few accidents (when at home). Still though, he would hide behind the chair to take a dump, and even when we asked him if he was pooping he would answer with a red-faced NOPE! Then he’d walk into the bathroom and announce he needed to sit on the potty only to discover the poop in his underwear. We laughed it off, which you can do with boys’ underwear because it is thick and contains poo so much better than girls’ princess/Dora/Barbie/pony unders, where the crapola gets smooshed and leaks out the leg holes and onto the carpet and WAIT? Where is everyone going? Don’t you want to know these awesome and TOTALLY USEFUL potty training details? No? FINE. Just know that if your girl isn’t picky buy her boys’ underwear to start with.

What did I learn again? Oh, yes. The poop. In the potty. Twice this week Keaton walked into the bathroom, pushed his step stool up to the potty, disrobed his bottom and pooped. Well, I can only assume that’s what happened because he didn’t even tell me, just showed me the finished product with much pride and elation. After approximately 37 poops in his underpants we were beginning to think he wasn’t as ready for undies as we (and he) thought he was, but these 2, um, well, dumps, have given me hope.

*That Rowan has a morbid tendency in her songwriting skills:

“Mom!”

“Yep?”

“I wrote a song for you.”

“Ooo, OK. Let’s hear it.”

“There were three jellyfish swimming in the pond, three jellyfiiiiiiiish swimming in the pond…and then a shark came and bited their heads off! OH NO! Then there were no jellyfish, swimming in the pond, no jellyfiiiish swimming in the pond.

Do you like it!”

“Um. Wow. Yeah. Great song. Especially the part about the shark.”

“I know. Thanks.”

*That the days are getting longer and being up, putting one foot in front of the other, while watching the sky go from navy to violet to magenta is maybe almost worth the 6am price tag.

I said ALMOST.

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Getting these…

Dandelion bouquets, picked with love by small, pudgy fingers.

The weather has s-l-o-w-l-y been improving, with highs in the high 20s, low 30s which paired with the fact that we just got through a huge 2 months which were packed full of stress and planning for the short and long-term, is lifting our spirits and allowing us to hope for spring. Since mid-September I can count on one hand how many free weekends we’ve had and every single one of those weekends were free because we were stuck home sick.

Now we are free. Free to make plans with other adult-y type people. Free to take the kids to the museum or out sledding. Free to not have a head full of what-ifs about next year’s Kindergarten and events to plan or attend. I feel like after 6 months of obligations we are free to live our life. And stuff. What an amazing concept.

The content of this blog has definitely suffered. I feel like the last 2 months have been filled with half-assed attempts at posts which in the end I give up on and just post a picture(s) as a diversion to my crappy run-on sentences. And you know what? That’s really OK. Those posts serve a purpose. They more than accurately mark how we’re feeling most days, but I would like to actually write something worth people’s time. Worth my time. Something that makes me have to think harder than just re-sizing photos for web purposes.

Sadly, this is not that post. But! I’ve started a dozen different posts that I’ve abandoned and that now stare at me from my drafts folder every time I open my dashboard. So this is a house-cleaning post where I tell you a bunch of unrelated marginally entertaining (or not!) things so I can feel better about the state of things. You are so welcome to skip this and go look up Lost spoilers. Really. I understand.

With that warning in place, let me get you up to speed with what we’re all busy with and what we hope spring will bring:

Bill is working his ass off on freelance projects that helped us pay for a lovely Christmas and a good amount of our portion of Cabin! Vacation! Twenty! Ten! which will be spent here. I can’t wait, can you? Of course you can’t, silly. What idiotic behavior will the DCFI regale us with this year? YOU JUST NEVER KNOW. Bill’s also been working on designing a site for me. (Can you imagine having me as the evil overlord of your designs? Me either. I would totally hate to have me as a client. Poor, poor, Bill.) I think we’ve all had enough of this crappy generic wordpress page and would like something prettier to look at. It’s coming along but it’s never important enough to sacrifice any of the rare downtime we’ve had.

Bill hopes the spring will bring painting that pink room he’s been forced to live in for nearly 10 months, a less stressed out wife and maybe to get out snowboarding before the snow melts.

I’ve been working on staying sane. Seriously. We’ve never had such a busy winter and I am NOT a winter person. I do fine until after Christmas but the doom and gloom of being stuck inside for the next three months with 2 small children is really daunting. Add the kindergarten drama and planning a baby shower and vacation and all the sickness and [INSERT HEAD EXPLOSION HERE]. Anytime the kids were healthy-ish and the windchill stayed up in the teens we made it outside, but bundling up two wiggly 30 pound dervishes and trying to keep their hats and mittens on is way more work than it’s worth.

I am looking forward to the birth of my niece in a few weeks, warm weather and putting a little effort into my health after collapsing every evening with a glass or 3 of wine, a jar of olives and not moving until bedtime. Point being, it’s time to start taking care of myself and that’s an exciting concept. I may even start hanging out with that Michaels bitch again.We’ll see how this goal works out. I really like wine and olives.

Rowan has been busy touring every Kindergarten in freakin Minnesota. At the last one we visited you know what they got her to do? Something amazing. Something huge. They got her to put on her own damn jacket with no help. NO HELP. I have been gently nudging this child to show interest in dressing herself on a regular basis for 2 years. She’ll randomly put a shirt and pants on, or pull a dress over her head, maybe put on her own socks, but most of the time “it’s tooooooo hhhhaaaaarrrrdddd” “I neeeeeeeed HHHHHHHAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLPPPPPP”. Her preschool teachers have been desperately trying to get her to do it as well because they have 16 kids to get ready and out the door and there is Rowan… waiting for help while schmoozing with the preschoolers that have already put their own coats on. Her teachers even started refusing to put Rowan’s coat and snowpants on her, hoping she’d just figure it out. And she did figure it out. She enlisted the help of the other four-year olds. She now has a regular group of girls that get her dressed.

Anyway at this Kindergarten the parents separated and the kids got to go on a bus ride. These were all new kids and the teacher told them to get their coats on and Rowan was left without help so she put her coat on by herself. I didn’t know this until the following day when I brought her coat up and attempted to put it on her and she said “I can do it myself”. Internet, I almost cried. She told me there was no one to help her the day before and she tried and voi-freakin-la! She did it. Just like that. Rowan’s also obsessed with sight words, pointing them out in all the books we read and pretending she’s a cat with royal lineage.

The part of spring Rowan is most looking forward to is puddles. Lots of puddles. And getting back out on the trails.

Keaton is working on figuring out this whole potty business. He absolutely loves the attention he gets when he pees in the potty but his body is no where near ready. He doesn’t at all recognize the signs and seems surprised when warm wet stuff trickles down his leg even after just repeating our new household mantra, “No pee-pee on the floor…only pee-pee in the potty!” He is making progress though. Before he would sit down for no more than a few seconds and if he couldn’t go he would give up, and now I’m able to keep him seated for longer periods, giving his body a chance to let things flow, so to speak. Today he asked for big boy underoos and successfully pooped in one pair, peed in 3 others and all over one of my pillows. A pillow that I then attempted to wash. A pillow that then successfully broke our washing machine. Like broke broke. Potty training is now replacing the high-chair as my arch rival and nemesis.

Keaton is looking forward to the snow and cold going away so he doesn’t have to fight with his arch nemesis: Das Mitten. And riding his beloved trike that he pines after every time we enter the garage where it hangs on a peg, which is roughly 4-6 times a day.

Fawksey is working on being fat and smelly. She looks forward to continuing being fat and smelly, but out on the deck.

Monkey is way too good for all of us and would prefer to keep her master plans under unholy wraps. She looks forward to nothing, you silly mortals.

Luna is busy barking at every fucking car she hears. And dog she sees. And that old guy who walks past our window four times a day. And that one sound she might have heard but wasn’t sure so she better just fucking bark some more. What if she stopped barking? Would the world cease to exist? I’m pretty sure she thinks so. This spring she’s looking forward to being taken out to go to the bathroom more than 3 times a day, sniffing other dog’s poop and peeing 9 bajillion times on our walks so everyone knows she was there.

There. Whew! I think you’re caught up and I think that now we can safely say we are all absolutely none the better for reading this mess. Let’s just keep our gaze firmly fixed forward. Into a time of hopefully less wordy posts. Into a period of calm. Into longer hours of sun light. Into spring.

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Internet, Bill and I are in day 6 of a stand-off.

The stand-off involves this bag.

Innocent looking enough, isn't it?

What resides in that bag is, I’m fairly certain, the messiest poopy diaper on planet earth. We’ve been cloth diapering for almost a year now and really couldn’t be happier with that decision. We use liners that make cleaning up a messy diaper incredibly easy and rarely have to haul one down tho the laundry tub to rinse it off.

This one, though. This one is…icky.

Internet, I had to change the thing in a public restroom with a squirmy 2-year-old precariously placed on a changing station that was NOT suited for a squirmy 2-year-old. Coming home I had to put said squirmy 2-year-old right down for his nap, without the time to clean the diaper out so I helpfully threw it with one hand while plugging my nose with the other placed it on the downstairs landing for Bill to trip over take note of and maybe take pity on me and wash it out.

But he didn’t take the bait. He walked past it and so I took my cue from him and walked past it myself. For 6 days now.

Last night we addressed it.

“So what about that diaper down there?”I asked.

“I’m scared.” He confessed.

“Me too.”

And that was it.

It’s still there.

Waiting.

So...any volunteers? Otherwise I think we're going to have to hire some sort of negotiator.

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Keaton Boy. Tell mama how it is possible that you:

a. Sneaked past me to get to your sister’s potty yet again, then

b. Proceeded to splash mighty splashes in her pee all over the bathroom, in the 30 seconds it took me to load the dishwasher.

c. Smiled the world’s sweetest smile as you grunted and pushed two giant turds out in the bath (that was necessitated by letter b).

d. After being pulled out and set down so I could deal with THE HORROR OF POOP TUB, proceeded to

d.1 Pee all over the towel rack.

d.2 Escape into the bedroom where you

e. POOPED AGAIN. ON THE CARPET. HOW WAS THERE MORE POOP IN YOU, SON? HOW?

f. Squished your toes in your own doody and

g. Went for a little stroll around the room, while shouting “MESS! MESS!”

You might ask: How does something like this happen? Don’t you watch your children? Might you look into leashes or holding cells of some kind? and finally, How does one clean up such a thing?

My answers are:

1. I have no fucking clue.

2. I am with them unless I have some task that needs completing (such as cleaning up after snacks and meals or picking up my bathtub and throwing it in the garbage because it is dead  to me now) and even still I am ALWAYS close by. I tell you they are crafty and cunning and I am beginning to think I’ve been duped by life. I mean, come on, did that really just happen?

3. Done and DONE.

4. and in closing, I used a combination of lighter fluid and FIRE. It worked pretty well.

Never has a shirt been so terrifyingly accurate.Well, I suppose it could say "I do my own stunts with my poo", but that just gets graphic-hey! kinda like this post!!

Never has a shirt been so terrifyingly accurate. Well, I suppose it could say "I do my own stunts with my poo", but that just gets graphic-hey! kinda like this post!!

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