"Easier" is not in our Near Future...

This morning I woke up not feeling too well. Sore throat, stuffy nose, symptoms that make you feel blah. Both boys had been struggling with cold-like symptoms for days,and had coughed off and on all night. So, I decided this would be a good day to take off work and go to the doctor. FYI: Taking both my boys to the doctor at the exact same time is one of my least favorite things to do. It's right up there with cleaning poop-splosions...which I got to do later in this same day...don't you worry. (It wouldn't be a story without poop, right?) And because we're lucky like this, it always seems to be the on-call doctor that we have to see each time we decide to visit the clinic. Us and about a hundred other people. Which means a much-longer-than-normal wait.

So, I dressed both boys and attempted to get them in the car on time, wiping Keaton's runny nose the entire way there on his shirt sleeve, my shirt sleeve...anything I could find at the moment. And of course once we were all in the car, Cale decided he needed to go to the bathroom. Why in the world he didn't figure this out five seconds ago...I don't know? Try asking a three-year old. You won't get very far past, "I just now had to go". Funny thing is, even when they're second graders, the excuse is still the same.

We made it to our appointment on time, amazingly. I was armed with little more than two sippy cups, which the boys had already pretty much chugged on the way to the doctor, and a bag of goldfish crackers. Thank goodness for those goldfish. After about twenty minutes of waiting, I opened the bag and I don't think Keaton stopped eating for more than a couple minutes the rest of the time we were there. I'm pretty sure when the nurse finally called us back, we left a nice mess of smashed crackers in the carpet. To be honest, I'm surprised there were any crackers left on the carpet because Keaton spent much of his time crawling under the chairs and picking up any stray he could find and...throwing it in the trash. Okay, well actually he was eating the fish and I know this was well past the five-second rule but cut me some slack. At the doctor's office, with two little ones, who were already in a bad mood before we ever left the house, and only one bag of goldfish to share between the two of them...it's all about survival. And if that means letting your kid eat off the floor, and pretending you don't notice...then so be it.

We probably waited a total of an hour and fifteen minutes (and they were busy so I'm not complaining) and by the end...I was tired. Of course I ended up not going to the doctor myself because after that...I didn't think I had it in me to sit in another waiting room with my two kids. Plus we were out of drink and crackers. Word of advice: Never go somewhere expected to wait with your kids if you don't have snacks or drinks. Don't do it. Don't. Just be sick. It's actually less painful.

On the way home, I put the pedal to the metal with only one thing on my mind. Nap time was near. Lunch first. But then the blessed nap time. A time when both kids are sleeping, the house is quiet, and I can do whatever I want. I usually end up cleaning during this time, but still, it's quiet. No screaming. No tears. Well, once they fall asleep, no screaming or tears. It's a sacred time.

After about twenty minutes had gone by, while I was attempting to clean out our closet, I heard a door shut. Since Keaton has yet to climb out of his crib, thank the Lord, I knew this was our three-year old, Cale.

I was a little annoyed because he still wasn't asleep. Plus he apparently was out of his bed which he knows is not supposed to happen. So, I headed that way to give him a "stern talking to". The minute I stepped into the hallway between the boys' bedrooms I could smell it. An unbelievably strong smell of poop. A smell strong enough that even in those few seconds I realized that it must be in multiple places. My heart sank. Literally sank as I stepped on into Cale's room. I couldn't see him at first, but then he stepped out of his closet. His hands were covered. There were multiple spots on the floor. There were places on his rug. I could see hand prints on the wall in a few places. I was speechless, partly for lack of the words to say and partly for fear of the words I might possibly say in that moment. All I could think of was Why? Haven't we been through this before? It's like a reoccuring bad dream. The poop-mare.

Cale told me that it was an accident, which is his excuse for everything bad that he does. Then he informed me that it was on some of his shirts. He had been in his closet when I first walked in. Greaaat. Still unable to say much I grabbed him up, took him to our bathroom, and put him in our jacuzzi tub. I began cleaning him, while the water was still cold. Of course he hated it, but in that moment I didn't have much sympathy. The water turned warm after a minute or two and I made him stay there while I went to clean up the mess.

Long story short. It was in so many places I can't even tell you. Door handles, light switches, the bathroom counter, sink, and faucet where he'd attempted to clean his hands up by himself. The cute little blue bucket that I keep beside the sink to store lotions and such was now filled with dirty, wet tissues. So bleach, water, the Shark steam mop, and I had a meeting in a Cale's room and bathroom. This was supposed to by "my" time. My me-time. I'll admit it. I wanted to throw a tantrum.

If you've read any of my blogs you're probably thinking, "Didn't almost this exact same thing happen before. Like more than once?" Why yes, you are correct. And yes, Cale is older now. Absolutely too old to be doing things like that. Welcome to my world. Sometimes it stinks.

We keep saying that things will get easier the older the boys get. But, I remember saying that exact thing about a year ago. And I would say things are harder now than ever. But, they're also better than ever. The boys, aside from all the bad, crazy moments, are so funny right now. They make us laugh constantly. This kind of makes up for all the other things they do. The yelling, the screaming, the crying, the fighting, the being-way-too-loud-in-public, the mess making, the...pooping. It really is all worth it.

Parking Lot Problems

Well, I'm ashamed at how long it's been. All the crazy moments that could have been potential blog posts and therefore enabled us to remember them in the years to come, have come and gone and not left much time for anything else but mere survival. And some of the moments are still a little too fresh to write about. You know how you laugh about things later on...well it just hasn't been later enough yet for a few things. So, I missed a few memorable moments but there are crazy moments day in and day out around here.

School has begun and we are back in the swing of things. Or I guess you could say back in the "piles and piles of laundry to be done-floor always a mess-pajamas strewn all over the house-lunches to be made-barely make it out the door-completely zonked by 9:00" kinda days.

Every year when school starts I wonder how I am going to get everything done. Seriously. There just aren't enough hours in the day to get what I need to get done and definitely not enough hours to do the things I want to do. That is probably why there is almost always a load of clothes in the hamper, a load in the washer, a load in the dryer, a fresh batch I forgot to fold sitting in the basket getting all wrinkled, and a recently purchased book sitting on my iphone, unread. And also why my gym attendance is shamefully pitiful.

But, I do love this time of year, crazy or not. Fall is nearing and I cannot tell you how happy I am for cool weather. Last week was the hottest, most awful week ever. But, finally this weekend we had sweet relief. And hopefully it's here to stay. I'm seriously tired of sweating.

Cale and Keaton are now going to the same daycare, which is pretty handy. Mornings are a bit wild, trying to get both boys fed, dressed, packed, and locked into their car seats. But that's just the beginning. We then stop and pick up Kenzie...Cale's "favorite girl in the world", and also his cousin. She's no trouble at all and we love having her, but sometimes getting in the daycare door with three kids is pretty tricky. Especially on "bring your lunch" day...which occurs every Wednesday. And sometimes on that same day is "bring a toy" day. And it never fails, this is usually how it all plays out:

I park the car and begin unbuckling seat belts. The kids start to get out, while each handing me their backpack, then their water bottles, their lunch box, and last...their toys. Because of course they can't carry them for some unknown reason. So I have a bajillion things in my hands, a one-year-old on my hip, a three and four-year old running ahead of me, and sweat dripping down my face by the time we reach the door.

Last week, that exact incident occurred. Except that Cale was having one of those mornings that I like to call him "Carl's son". I pulled up to school and began getting Keaton out of his seat. Kenzie quickly got out of her seat on her own. Of course I had to grab all of the items that the kids can't seem to carry, and then I started to walk up to the front door. I noticed that Cale was not getting out of the car, so I headed back and tried to speed him up. He was still sitting in the car messing with some piece on his tractor, his scooper, I believe (probably not the technical term) Now, I would like to say that after firmly but gently talking to him, he decided to get out. But no, it didn't happen that way. After a minute of me threatening him with corporal punishment and a removal of a "good boy" buck from his piggy bank...which he had been saving up to buy a Thor hammer from the super hero section of Wal-Mart (hey, you do what you gotta do), he started to get out of the car.

That's when he noticed Kenzie on the steps by the front door. Shouldn't be a big deal, right? So, she's ahead of him...who cares? But, in three-year old world, on this particular morning, this was THE big deal. Cale stopped mid-step and dramatically threw himself on the ground and began crying. Now not only are my hands full with a bajillion things and a one-year old who would really prefer walking himself, but cannot be trusted to go where he's suppossed to go just yet, but there are parents everywhere dropping their kids off. So I have an audience. Yep, a fellow librarian passed by with her child, who was sweetly walking in while holding her hand. The doctor who delivered me walked past with his child, which reminds me, next time I see him I need to ask him if maybe he got our child mixed up with another that day in the hospital. Hey, it happens. Another teacher-friend I know was dropping her little one off. And all of these kids were walking in like normal human beings. Normal. Why can't things ever be normal for us?

And there I was bending over, trying to grab my child to make him stand, all the while dropping things left and right. As I got him off the ground, he jerked his arm away and took off back to the car, got inside, and slammed the door. I gotta say, on the inside I was beginning to lose it a little at this point. I ran, or awkwardly shuffled, trying to keep my cool and act as if I have this situation completely under control. I threw the door open and grabbed Cale out with more force than I thought I could have, considering my full hands and the thirty-pound ball of energy on my hip. Let's just say if I hadn't had the audience, I would have given Cale "something to cry about". And I probably would have given it to him two or three times.

By the time we got inside I seriously was sweaty and weak and pretty eager to drop my little "angels" off. It's those kind of moments that make me glad to go to work. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of other moments when I think it would be so nice to spend the day with them instead of working. But, then they wake up and I come to my senses. When I got back outside, I realized I no longer had my key in my hand. So, I searched along the ground and finally found it, in the vicinity of where out little "scuffle" had taken place. I got in my car, took a deep breath, turned on the A/C full blast, made a note to myself to get out the "strong-willed child" book and read it again, and then called Carl to tell him what "his" son had done.

I love my strong-willed older child and his, thankfully, less-strong willed little brother. Love them like crazy. But boy do they make me tired.

Oh, and by the way, this morning we had no meltdowns or tantrums. But, there was still a major catastrophe. Once I was already down Crow Mountain, by Flying J gas station, Keaton vomitted. Four times, actually. All over himself, his car seat, and a little on his cousin Kenzie who was sitting right beside him. What a trooper she was. So, we headed back up the mountain with the windows rolled down, gasping for fresh air. I dropped Keaton off with Carl and then took Kenzie home to change her clothes. I was twenty minutes late for work.

And you think your mornings are hard?

Snake Hater

I have always hated snakes. Despised them. Can't really explain what it is. I don't know how many times my dad gave me the "They're more afraid of you than you are them" speech which I never believed, by-the-way, because I am pretty doggone petrified of the things. Growing up in the country you'd think I would at least be accustomed to snakes, even if I don't much care for them. I used to help my dad haul hay in the summers...mainly just driving the truck and helping him get the bales from the truck to the barn. I can remember being terrified that a snake was lurking in one of those hay bales. Of course my dad told me that was crazy, there were not snakes...you know, the kind of lies parents tell their children to keep them from being afraid. I've since found out, that several snakes have been found in that barn, around the hay in fact. I guess I was risking my life back then in that barn, and didn't even know it. Okay, I guess "risking my life" is a bit of an exaggeration. Maybe not.

During the summer months, my yard becomes a place of caution for me. Every step I take is inspected, for fear that a false move will land my foot on a snake. I just know it will happen one day. And I even get the full-body shakes when I see a snake on the road...when I'm in a car...where the snake can't possibly get me. Absurd, I know.

It doesn't help hearing about stories of snakes in toilets or washing machines. I'm pretty sure I would have to move if I ever found a snake inside my house. I'm just worried about the day when a snake gets around my kids. I mean, I love my kids like crazy...but, a snake? I would like to say my super-mom powers would kick in and I would...I don't know, do something. But, I'm afraid I would do one of two things: 1. Become completely immobilized 2. Run like lightning, forgetting I had kids. Cale and Keaton, who?

Today, I went with my dad, sister, her husband, and my niece to walk down to this waterfall that is near our house. Of course, there's no water right now, but they wanted to know where it was located. I was pretty nervous before even heading out there because I knew the area would be fairly grown up, with tall grass, weeds, sticks...snakey stuff. So, I put on my rain boots in the 90 degree weather, thinking this would at least make me feel a bit more brave. We hadn't walked two minutes, when everyone started yelling at Abree and I. "Snake! Snake! Get over here!". My sister is pretty scared of snakes too, I might add. So she was really screaming at us.

I think I went a little numb and my brain stopped working. I ran in the wrong direction, then darted back in the right direction. I would like to say, I grabbed my niece and made sure she was away from the snake, which they told me was pretty big. I'm sure it was HUGE. At least in my mind. But, luckily Abree took care of herself. I actually don't even think she was afraid of the snake. She's seven and I'm twenty-eight. Of course my dad started spouting off his age-old lie, "They're more afraid of you...", you know the rest. Hogwash.

Needless to say, the rest of the walk made me pretty uneasy. Every branch that touched my shoulder or every grasshopper that hopped in front of me made me jump. The deeper we got into the woods the more nervous I became. Finally as the group got pretty close to the waterfall area...there was no longer a path really, just leaf covered ground with lots of sticks and rocks...I decided to go no further. I told them I would wait right there for them. So, I waited. And waited. And looked up, down, and all around for snakes. And waited some more. They didn't come back. I could no longer hear them.

This sounds so silly to a normal person I guess. But, I was so afraid of seeing a snake that all I could do was just stand there. There's safety in numbers, right? Plus, my dad was leading the way so if there was a snake, he would step on it first. But, without them there... Finally I decided to try and head back up out of the woods. The only problem was, the path had somehow vanished and I wasn't exactly sure how to get back up. Oh, I could get back up if I was willing to walk through some crazy, tall, prickly stuff. But, that was not about to happen.

I felt about five-years old in that moment as I yelled pathetically, "Daaaaaaad? Dad? Hey guys, where are you? This isn't funny." Another five minutes when by. Finally I could hear my dad's voice. He helped me find the path and I got out safely.

So, I let a snake turn me into a child today. Pitiful.

Will my dad ever learn that snakes are not more afraid of me than I am of them? I win for sure. Well, actually the snake wins, I guess if you think about it.

Three...is NOT the magic number.

Three. Three is the new two. I heard someone say that back when Cale was two and I now believe it. I remember thinking when Cale was about 20 months old that he was starting the "Terrible Twos" early. Looking back, knowing what I know now, the twos weren't even all that terrible. More like "tolerable". But three...what words can describe this age? I'm not sure if "terrible" can even scratch the surface.

Now not all "three" moments are bad. Many can be quite pleasant and fun, actually. Three can be full of moments so enjoyable that you start thinking this stage is your favorite so far. Then, BAM. The evil twin, Dalebert shows up. That's the "loving" nickname we've had for Cale ever since he was little. We call him "Calebert" all the time; enough so, that strangers probably really think that's his name. I bet they wonder what in the world we were thinking. But, when Cale's evil twin appears we call him "Dalebert".

Tonight Dalebert graced us with his presence, as he's been doing a lot lately. I say "us" but actually Carl had martial arts class tonight. So, he didn't get the pleasure of Dalebert's company. However, my friend Megon and her husband Jason got a small visit with him. We were eating at Chick-fil-A. There were three adults and four kids...so we were outnumbered which is never a good thing. It's always a zoo when eating with little kids in a restuarant, even fast food. At one point Cale was getting really obnoxious and loud. He gets like that sometimes. Like, forcefully, aggressively loud. At home something physical usually accompanies this kind of loudness. Sometimes it's hitting, sometimes it's slapping. And usually poor Keaton is always the recipient.

I told Cale to quiet down. He looked at me and said pretty hatefully, "NO! You're a dork." And he continued to be obnoxious. I was a little stunned by the "dork" comment and I almost laughed. Not that his hatefulness was funny, but that "dork" was his word of choice. Where did he even hear that word? I scooped him up for a trip to the bathroom, aka the 'spanking-without-getting-judgemental-glances' room. Of course when we went in, there was a lady washing her hands. I have this issue with spanking Cale in front of people. It makes me really self conscious. I kind of think he knows that which doesn't help his public behavior any. So, since we weren't alone I started off telling him that he will not talk like that to adults, blah, blah, blah. He kept saying "Are you gonna spank me? You're not gonna spank me, are you? Don't spank me."

Well, as soon as the stranger walked out the door, Cale got what he was asking for...or not asking for. And believe it or not, after the spanking, that crazy kid looked at me with this mean expression and in an air of suppossed authority snapped, "I told you NOT to spank me!" This boy has a lot of nerve, not much sense, but lots of nerve.

Of course I explained to Cale that I'm the adult and he does not tell an adult what to do. Believe it or not our little untamed stallion proceeded to say "You are NOT the boss!" I don't why he has to push the limits so much.

So, he ended up being banned from going with his cousins after dinner. I knew how much he wanted to be with the girls and I felt like this was the most severe form of punishment I could have given him at that moment. When he heard me tell my sister that he would not be coming, he began wailing. The ride home was filled with buckets and tears and sobbing. I hope he at least learned some kind of lesson from it. I know I learned a lesson. I can never eat out in peace. Ever again.

All I wanted to do was enjoy some chicken nuggets and waffle fries. Is that too much to ask?

Oh, I forgot to mention that Keaton was a really good boy...besides poking his finger through my styrofoam cup, causing my Dr. Pepper to spill all over his clothes and the floor. But that was an accident so I'm okay with it. I hope he stays innocent for awhile longer.

These days we've been spending much of our time outside...partly because of the warm weather and longer days...partly because the boys are way more content outdoors...partly because it's a chance for me to get a tan on this pasty body of mine...and partly as an attempt to keep my house from becoming any messier than it already is. If my boys are inside for very long, every single tub of toys ends up dumped out on the floor, but never actually played with; couch cushions are strewn about randomly; Pots and pans are removed from their place in the cabinets; The house can go from clean to tornado-aftermath in 0.2 seconds.


The other day when I got home with the boys, as I walked in the door I noticed that the air freshener and wooden vase from the bathroom were lying on the floor. Keaton. No question, it was Keaton. His ambition in life is to remove things from their designated place. The minute I start picking up the things he has scattered, he moves on to other things. It's a vicious cycle and it keeps me on my toes. He must have done it this morning after Cale and I left when Carl was getting ready for work. A few minutes later that afternoon, I walked into Keaton's room, which is all the way across the house. I found a toilet brush and the little plastic holder it sits in lying on Keaton's floor. Grossed out, I took it to the boys' bathroom which is right outside of Keaton's room. But, of course when I got in there, I realized the brush did not belong in this bathroom. Keaton had carried it all the way across the house, I'm sure just dripping and oozing all over the place, probably licking it the whole way, and ended up dropping it in his room. Cale collects trains and tractors, and Keat collects toilet brushes. I guess we all have our hobbies. Maybe he'll be a plumber? Or a custodial person? Or just gross...


A few months ago, I wrote about Cale embarrassing me in Wal-Mart when he tried to pull my shirt up and touch my "boobies", as he called them, quite loudly. Last Friday after school I took him for a quick shopping trip...which is something I have pretty much never done. I am 99.9% sure that he is not a good shopper, so I just avoid the potentially bad situation altogether. But, that day I decided it was take him with me, or never go shopping. He was completely amazed with the clothing racks and spent all of this time trying to get out of my sights, which of course made it hard to shop. I kept losing him, then finding him. At one point we were walking past the lingerie section of the store. Cale held out his hand, and while touching every bra we passed chanted, "Boobies. Boobies. Boobies. Boobies. Boobies." Every single bra. And the more I whispered, "Cale, stop saying that!", of course the more he wanted to say it and the louder his voice got. I really think he's figured out it embarrasses me. I'm just waiting for the day it embarrasses him...hopefully it will.


I know I'm a broken record, but life with our two boys is completely chaotic. I love it. I absolutely love it. But, man can it get any more tiring? Just a few days ago, I rushed to the gym after school, got a quick work out in; rushed to pick the boys up; Cale from his school and Keaton from his babysitter's house; hurried inside to start dinner...which lately often consists of something bagged or boxed. On this day, out of guilt, I decided I would actually cook a meal. So, I got started on lasagna. Once I finally got everything all together and in the oven, I sat down on the couch to relax. (Ha, there is not relaxing while they boys are awake) Five seconds later, in walks Keaton holding a big handful of white stuffing. Like the kind that goes in pillows and cushions. I glanced up, at first not thinking much about it. Then, it hit me that this was not normal. Of course we don't just have stuffing lying around, so that meant that something had been destroyed in order for the white fluff to be in Keaton's hand.


My first thought was to just sit on the couch and hope for the best. But, then I came to my senses and ran into the playroom. The floor was covered with every single couch cushion and pillow from our couch. Annoying? Yes, somewhat. I get awfully tired of putting the couch back together every day. But, what was more annoying was the mound of stuffing that had been pulled out of one of the cushions. Seriously it was everywhere. Cale, our three year old had to be guilty of the unzipping, but both boys had a part in scattering the stuffing.


This afternoon, I heard Carl calling my name...which usually always means that the boys did something bad. I'll tell you the truth. Sometimes I pretend I don't hear him in hopes that he will just give up and take care of it himself. Occasionally that works. But today he kept calling me, so finally I went to check things out, hoping it wasn't a highly explosive diaper emergency, as it often is. Keaton had somehow gotten a big bundle of grapes out of the fridge and they were strewn out all over the playroom floor and smushed into the carpet. There were at least twenty grapes that had been stepped on and ground into the carpet. Darn it, why couldn't it have just been a diaper issue? Good thing I picked my carpet well...it doesn't show a thing. The bad thing is...since it doesn't show anything, there's no telling what lies beneath the surface. Ewww.


Things like this happen all day, every day. We love our boys to pieces, even if they never let us rest or let the house remain clean.


Parents: You want birth control for your teenage or college kids? Send them our way. We'll lock them in the house with our two monsters for a few hours. It will work. I can almost guarantee it.

What's the Deal?

I usually don't post twice in one day. In fact, I think I never have. But in addition to that last post, Keaton just pooped in the bathtub while both boys were taking a bath. Yep, pretty unbelievable. That was worse than both morning incidents combined. I guess Keaton didn't want to be outdone. I don't think it ever ends. And how has Carl managed to miss every single one of these incidents today? All I can say is, his time is coming! Oh and the kids' toilet is clogged, so I guess he will have to handle one gross job. I must admit, I typed that last part with just a bit of a smile of satsifaction. Just a bit...

Yes, Another Post About Poop...I Sincerely Apologize.

What can I say, when you have a three-year old and a one-year old...your world is pretty much consumed by grossness. This Sunday morning, I awoke to the sound of Cale playing in the other room. I was so blown away that he hadn't come to get me up, that I rolled over and went back to sleep. I slept for about twenty more minutes, then I heard his voice over the baby monitor, so I knew he was in Keaton's room. Thinking it was good while it lasted, I reluctantly got out of bed, not-so-eager to start my day. But, at least it was 7:30...which is an hour longer than the boys usually let me sleep so I guess technically I slept in. Cale was in Keaton's room, along with every tractor he owns. Keaton was standing in his crib, watching big brother play...hoping someone would get help him out of his bed. So, I scooped him up and the two of them quickly began playing together. It's nice during those few moments when they actually play together with no tears, from Keaton. The tears are always from Keaton because big brother loves to torture him. Head locks, leg locks, body slams...I hold Carl responsible for Cale's love of doing these things to poor Keaton. But sometimes, no wrestling or tears are involved, and they just play. Ahhh, that's bliss. So, I went to the kitchen to start by beloved pot of coffee. I have to say, coffee is my most favorite thing...food or drink. I can drink it all hours of the day or evening. It probably makes me far too happy, but I can't help it. It has helped me cut way back on my Dr. Pepper addiction...to an almost nonexistent point, so I guess it's actually been useful to me, right? Replacing one addiction for another, I suppose. As I was waiting for my coffee to finish, I noticed a mud spot on the kitchen floor, right in front of the door that leads outside to the garage. I figured that Carl had dirt on his shoes when he came in last night. Besides the annoyance of thinking I had to mop the floor yet again, I didn't think too much about it. Coffee first, cleaning later. Fast forward to a little later in the morning. I noticed Keaton's nose running like a faucet, so I went to the bathroom to grab a tissue. As I headed there, I bypassed the dirt spot that Carl had suppossedly left on the floor. When I stepped into the bathroom my socks were immediately soaked. I nervously turned on the light and it was like a horror scene out of a toddler movie. No blood or goriness...not that kind of horror. But, the potty kind. The floor was covered in pee and the toilet was covered in poop. It was even all down the side of the toilet. My first concern was my wet socks. Wet socks are bad enough, but knowing they're soaked in pee instead of water is much more disturbing. After getting out of the socks and mopping the floor, I began to work on the even nastier mess. I still don't know how it is physically possible to get poop in the places that Cale managed to. Side of the toilet, under the toilet seat... I guess that's real talent. Oh, and that "mud" spot on the floor, was not mud. And to think, I had been so pleased that he hadn't woken me up first thing in the morning. So sadly I had to tell him when a number two situation arises, he need to have help from a parent. Even if it means waking a parent...ahem, Daddy preferably, up in the morning. Okay, now I know you may not believe me when I say this but you will just have to take my word for it. As I was typing that last paragraph (while sitting on the couch on our back porch) I heard a knock on the window. I looked up to see Cale standing, pantsless. This wasn't too strange since it's always been a battle to keep pants on him. But, he was suppossed to be napping, so I immediately felt aggravated that he was up. I went inside ready to take action when he told me that he had just got done pooping and I had to wipe him. So crazy, since I was just typing the story from this morning. I kid you not, when I walked in the bathroom, the toilet was covered once again. Seriously, it's like he's trying to get it everywhere. I mean, can that actually accidentally happen? I asked him why the sudden messy bathroom visits, but he played the "I don't know" card. So I cleaned up yet another poop-plosion. What has my life come to?