CAUTION: The following blog post is not for those who are faint of heart when it comes to icky stuff that kids do. You have been fairly warned, and I might well have just given away the entire story.
So, the other night we were getting the kids ready for bed, and Mali was sitting in the recliner in our bedroom when she looked over towards our bathroom door and asked, "Why is there a rock on the floor right there?" This is not an unusual question, as our children have this fascination with rocks and have collected several of them, and they show up in odd places around the house.
Maggie looked at it and said, "That's not a rock."
(Do you see where this is going yet?)
I looked at it and considered it's nice, roundish contours and confidently said, "Yes it is!" So,I bent over to pick it up and immediately exclaimed, "Oh my gosh, that's NOT a rock!"
(Are you following me? Do you get it?)
And suddenly it became quite clear why I thought I smelled poo when I was changing Jane's diaper and was surprised that there was no poop. Apparently Benjamin was so engrossed in doing something else that he couldn't make it to the bathroom in time. I'm still trying to figure out exactly how it came to be that his dookie ended up in the middle of my bedroom floor, but there you have it.
This marked the second dookie-on-the-floor incident in as many days. Jane, who has finally taken an interest in toilet-training, had approached me the day before saying, "Poopie, Daddy, poopie." I took her to the bathroom and she sat on the toilet for about a minute, and then proclaimed that she was all done. Right about the time we got her diaper on her, Maggie called out from the living room, "There's poop on the floor!" See, Jane wasn't asking to go poo-poo, she was actually reporting on her recent activity.
I should get those kids a squat toilet.