We've Been Bamboozled!

 Everybody poops. It's a fact of life. I just never imagined how much time I'd spend in my adult life cleaning poop off the floor.

I feel like I've been bamboozled!

At no point in my middle or high school health or life science classes did they ever mention cleaning poop off the floor. Why is our education system failing our children? Because it's concealing the important truths of adulthood!

Rach and I began our path to parenting very logically: we started with a cat.

We raised the cat well, I think. She hasn't brought home any toms we disapprove of, her report cards have always been above average, and she's a reliable sitter on nights when Rach and I need to go out.

She does have two issues, though. One, she can be quick to lose her temper because she's randomly psycho...mainly around strangers and her maternal 'grandparents'. Two, she poops on the floor. We've tried everything short of kitty psychotherapy for this issue, but have resigned ourselves to cleaning the floor outside the litter box.

After we realized we could keep a cat alive, we added a Golden Retriever to the mix. Gracie has been wonderful. Her daughter, Meli, though, is a wild card.

Once again, we feel like we did our parenting duty well in raising the dogs. They're both well spoken, sharing their thoughts without hesitation, especially outside the house. They help out with chores, keeping the kitchen floors fairly clean, occasionally doing dishes, and quickly pointing out when we've left food, especially bread, where we shouldn't. Oh, and Meli loves surprises.

The problem is, she loves leaving them. Not that she does this as regularly as the cat, but Meli's been known to christen the carpet in order to welcome us home with otherworldly fragrances and stains. And always, always, always the carpet.

Of course, despite the minor issues that came with the cat (now cats) and dog (now dogs), we went ahead and added a kid (now kids).

Mini-Me was a champ when it came time to potty train. When he was two, he changed in-home day cares, going from individualized attention to a more social atmosphere. On day one, he spotted a jar of M&Ms and was told they were for good boys and girls who go on the potty. He immediately ran to a potty and sat down, much to the dismay of the kid already sitting there. Luckily he hadn't pulled his pants down and especially fortunate for that kid, he didn't 'go'. Despite that rough start, it didn't take long for him to master the process...he loves his 'M&Ms'.

The Wubster, on the other hand, is much less motivated by 'EmmnEmeeees.' He loves 'em, sure, but he's incredibly stubborn and independent. We thought he'd mastered the potty process a few weeks ago. He woke up in the morning with a dry pull-up, wore big boy underwear throughout the day, rarely had an accident. It was too easy those two weeks. Now he's back to thoroughly soaking himself at night AND during the day.

The main issue seems to be he gets caught up in whatever he's playing with and doesn't want the inconvenience of having to stop to go potty. He's also at the age where he's refusing to follow directions (is it considered an 'age' if it's constant from here on out?) and will purposely not go to the bathroom if you tell him to. When he does decide to 'go', he much prefers standing to sitting, which caused our first major predicament several mornings ago.

While standing on our bathroom scale to make it easier to 'fire away', he apparently also felt the urge to poop.

So he did.

On the scale.

Based on my previous posts regarding this subject, you'd probably assume I checked the weight of that load. It's a logical point. I would have. Unfortunately, I wasn't the one who happened upon the discovery. Rach isn't quite as inquisitive.

This morning, he bamboozled us again. Neither Rach nor I witnessed this because we were caught up in other aspects of the morning routine (which, admittedly, puts us at fault, too), but from the evidence discovered on site, we pieced together the following:

Upon being told to go potty, he made his way directly to the bathroom. His aim was off, though. Or his eyesight. Or maybe he'd read that urine is good for polishing bamboo floors. With an empty bladder, he headed  to his room for a new pull-up, spotted his closet, realized toys are more fun than wearing pants, realized not wearing pants was pretty fun, too, began playing, began pooping, continued playing.

Rach found him heading to the bathroom to wipe his butt, looked for signs of poop in the toilet, found none and figured he'd flushed the evidence, went to get him clothes and discovered the christening of the "Going To Grandma's" suitcase in the closet.

We made him clean up while I very closely supervised the retrieval and disposal of the contamination, but, really, it was me, once again, in the middle of a poop clean-up.

No one told me life was gonna be this way (admit it...you just clapped), and I'm glad for that. Sure I've been bamboozled, but if I knew then how much sh*t I'd have to deal with as an adult and avoided it, life wouldn't be nearly as fun!