A Fitting End

"Eww, there's poop!"

And so began a fitting end to the day.  Unfortunately, this was not the first time I had been met with a doodie dilema since arriving home from work.  "Dad, the toilet's plugged," - not my favorite greeting.  But, let's rewind a little.  Dinner was finished and Logan and I had just returned from the grocery store.  As I began putting the groceries away I remember him running into the dining room.

"Oh, I forgot to eat my applesauce," he exclaimed as he climbed into his seat.

Super, have at it.  Now, if you had asked me to testify as to the whereabouts of Logan the entire time I was attending to the groceries, I would have sworn that he was at the table happily consuming the remaining portions of his dinner.  I was about to discover, however, that there was (and still is) an entire chunk of time that I am unable to account for.  This fact is very distressing to me as Logan would have had to pass right by me in order to leave the room, to say nothing of returning. 

When I had finished with the groceries I went to feed the cat.  There was a bit of fidgeting and a few distressful noises emanating from the dining room.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"There's something tickling my foot."

"Hmm," I said as I glanced in his direction to see him fiddling with his toes.

I remember being amused at the thought of the cat circling his bare feet under the table even though the cat was pawing my hand as I filled his food dish.  First clue - missed.  Correction - second clue, missed.  When I glanced over and saw him fiddling with his foot, I failed to notice the complete lack of clothing from the waist down.

"Eww, there's poop!" he hollered.

Okay, now he had my attention.  I approached wearily as he held out his hand and wiggled his fingers.

"How did you happen to be sitting at the dining room table with no pants on...at all?" I asked in alarm.  "Where are your jeans?  And underpants?  All I did was feed the cat...did time stand still?"

My mind was reeling.  What happened?  I'm reasonably certain that he had pants on when I took him to the store.  I examined his fingers - sure enough, poop.  I never imagined that, when we covered the newly reupholstered dining room chairs with clear plastic, this is what we would be protecting them from.

"You go and stand in the bathroom and don't touch anything!" I said indicating that he should take immediate leave of the room.  

Now what?  I stood rooted to the spot as my mind shifted into overdrive.  Where do I start?  Where has he been?  What has he touched?  Alright, I'll start with the boy.  As I entered the bathroom I could see Logan standing there looking very upset.  I was immediately suspicious.  He should be upset, of course, but he looked too upset...why?  The reason became almost immediately apparent as I cautiously approached and tread on the soggy bathroom rug.  Oh, come on!  Why is there a large yellow puddle on the floor in front of the toilet?  Why is this not the first time I've wondered that aloud as I stand here in wet socks?

Fast forward...Logan was now in the tub and Justin had been summoned from the basement to be on drowning patrol while I took the rugs and started the washing machine.  In my absence, Justin began to quiz Logan about what was happening since I had refused to fill him in.  I knew that he wouldn't stay if he suspected that there was poo involved.

"I got poop on my hands and peed on the floor," Logan crooned from the tub.

Meanwhile, Ashley was hiding under the covers in the next room.  Very helpful.  When it finally came time to brush teeth, and I had cleaned the bathroom from top to bottom, I asked Logan to join me.  He gave me a skeptical look.

"It's fine," I said.  "Look!  It's all purdy, shiny clean!"

"What happened to all the blankets (rugs)?" he asked.

"They're in the washing machine because..."

"I like to pee!" he shrieked.

Amen.

- 16 February 2012