Monday, January 23, 2012

It's not okay to paint your brother with poop

Now that we've established that Clifford is NOT running away (probably because it snowed over the weekend) it's time for another Flashback Series entry! Get excited, people.

Time: Fall 2004
Place: Salt Lake City, Utah
Kids: Age almost 3 and still not potty trained
Challenge: Same poop, different day

After the shitcake incident over the summer, I thought I had weathered enough toddler drama to be fully prepared for anything they could throw at me. De-pooping their room proved to be a nightmare, but it was done. Moving on.

A few months later, when I thought I was surely in the clear, I plopped the tiny terrors in the basement to play with their *poop-free* toys for a while behind a giant gate fit for a Great Dane. I'm no fool. Or am I...This was nothing new, they had played down there in the past and it allowed me the 3 minutes of free time I could scrounge up during the day to get some laundry done.

As most who are currently, or have at any point been parents of toddlers, you know that silence is never a good thing. If you can hear them, you know it's all good. If you can't, shenanigans are likely. And shenanigans are what I got this day. Or should I say shit-nanigans.

Fearing what was behind the deafening silence coming from the playroom, I took a peek to see what was up. And once again, the poop had hit the fan. Alexander had chosen this particular day to tap into his creative side by removing his diaper (still no success on the damn potty training), remove it's glorious contents, and finger paint his way through the playroom. And he didn't stop when he got to his brother.

There was Clifford, sitting on the beanbag with a look of defeat on his face....covered in poop. He was just a stop on Alexander's way to painting the entire room. Walls, carpet, the shit went surprisingly far.

I lost it. So to avoid committing any crimes, I called my younger brother who happened to also live in Salt Lake at the time.

Me: You need to come over here before I kill the kids.
Brother: (giggles) What happened this time?
Me: Not now, I'm seriously looking at prison time.
Brother: Be right over.

By the time my brother got to the house, I had managed to throw both kids in the bathtub so he could deal with them while I dealt with the shitty basement. When it was all over, there had been tears- mostly from me, and lots and lots of cursing- also from me. But at least the basement was clean(er) and no crimes were committed.

I would like to take this moment to thank the good people over at Hoover. You make a kick-ass steam cleaner, and made an otherwise shitty day a bit less shitty....temporarily.

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