Poop

This absolutely has to be told, although there really is no time to tell it, as I am presently sanding the beadboard ceiling of my porch. (Note to self: if the ceiling ever needs to be re-done again, make sure you get a job lucritive enough to hire somebody; that or go to the Y religiously and lift for at LEAST 6 months prior. I will, for the record, probably be unable to even use my arms to merely type tomorrow)

So supper is over, and I am calling the children for bath, and Liam appears to be MIA. Knowing his usual haunts, I poked my head out the door and looked towards the "pee tree". Yes, we are a fairly barbaric family, and our son regularly pees on a tree whenever the urge strikes. But tonight, I noticed that his pants were a little further down than usual....

"I pooped in a hole!" he called triumphantly to me, and I can see it, the dirt all stuck to his backside, the tiny hole by the side of the driveway, the guest house fireplace shovel laid haphazardly next to the hole. I gulped, remembering the camping conversation we had last weekend as we outfitted Auntie Stephie and Michael with tent, sleeping bags, and yes, orange trowel.

"Oh, honey". I said, "You must never, ever do that. Pee is clean, but poop can make germs in the yard. All poop has to go in the potty."
I grabbed the nearest implement (fireplace shovel) and scooped up the two, tidy turds that laid at the bottom of the fairly decent hole my future-camper had dug for himself.

"But I want to play with that!" he protested, trying to retrieve his shovel. I told him that it was bathtime. And ran.

I made it to the porch before the howls of laughter escaped me.

"GREG!" I shouted. "You just missed the funniest parenting moment EVER!!"

But he did get to see me using the big throwaway baby wipes to scrape off the broken pine needles and dirt from our son's lily-white bottom.

You see, when he dug the little hole, he actually sat right in it.

How much does this job ROCK?