More Fun With Feces!

Okay. So my last post about Keaton's poop has prompted a few of you to email/call me with a request that I put in writing what has come to be known as "The Dumptruck Incident". I'm a people pleaser, so here you go...

Once upon a time, there was a 3 year old boy who LOVED volcanoes. He talked about them all the time, drew them on his Magna Doodle, and sculpted them out of play dough whenever he got the chance. He turned strawberries upside down to look like volcanoes, watched YouTube videos of eruptions, and even had a volcano birthday cake when he turned 3. The boy was particularly fond of an episode of Dora the Explorer where young heroine Dora leads an expedition through "the muddy mud pit", over the bridge, and to the volcano.

The little boy's mommy loved him and his siblings very much, but one day she thought she might throw herself in front of a bus if she didn't leave the house alone and have a few hours of priceless silence. The boy's daddy knew this about the mommy, and because he loved the mommy and the children very much, he sent the mommy to Target.

The wise daddy and the children waved goodbye to the mommy as the car screeched out of the driveway, and when she disappeared they went inside to eat lunch. Afterwards, the daddy put the 3 year old and his little brother down for their naps and got on the treadmill to exercise. Silly daddy!

About 45 minutes later, the daddy got off the treadmill and headed out towards the living room. He paused, however, in the hallway when he noticed a particular odor coming from the last bedroom on the left. As he approached the door the stench got stronger, and the daddy was sore afraid.

The daddy mustered all of his courage and opened the 3 year old's door and beheld a scene that was beyond anything he had ever witnessed.

There was the boy, wide awake and gleefully running around his room -- naked from the waist down -- pushing his dumptruck in front of him instead of taking his much needed nap.



"That's not so bad," you say?

*** Did I mention the part where he had poop smeared all down both legs from yanking his nasty Pull Up off? No? How about the part where he had removed a shelf from his little bookshelf, used it as a platform to hold the contents of his Pull Up, "shaped" said contents into a volcano/muddy mud pit (we still aren't totally sure which it was), and wiped his poopy hands on his shirt and his HAIR to clean them off? Did I tell you that part?

How about the part where he had driven his dumptruck through the "muddy mud pit" over and over and over again grinding tire tracks of poo all over his bedroom carpet? ALL. OVER.

Or the part where the poop was all stuck in the tire treads on the dumptruck, so that the daddy had to blast it off with a hose which caused the wheels to spin which sent stuff flying in a manner we like to call the "Sprinkler O' Poo"? Did I tell you all of that?

Good. Back to our story. ***

The little boy's daddy was not happy, and found himself uttering a question the little boy got asked several times a week while he was potty training:

"Keaton Blake! WHERE DOES OUR POOP GO?"

To which the little boy quickly replied, "On the yellow truck, Dad!"

So the boy went into the shower, and the truck stayed outside, and the daddy called the mommy and said in an eerily calm voice, "Where are you?"

"Just leaving Target. And yes, we can still pay the mortgage. At least part of it."

And the daddy said, "Can you please stop and get carpet cleaner?"

And the mommy said, "We have some. It's above the washing machine in the laundry room."

And the daddy said, "I used that. We need more."

And the mommy was frightened and said, "What happened?"

And the daddy said, "Just get the cleaner and come home."

So the mommy spent more money on materials for cleaning floors and returned home and beheld the magnitude of the nastiness that she had avoided by going to Target.

And the mommy smiled.

THE END

(Except for 6 days later when the little boy did it again in the living room -- this time running back into his bedroom to retrieve a different vehicle (you know, on PURPOSE, instead of out of convenience) -- while the mommy was away. The fact that I was gone both times this blessed event occured has assured me that divine intervention is a very real thing.)