why we all changed our clothes

Obi-1: "Oh no! I stepped in poop!"

This call of distress might make sense outside, on a walk, in a park, or somewhere some irresponsible pet owner had refused to clean up after their beloved critter. It should not happen on my stairs.

Just 5 minutes earlier, Obi-2 had said "Poo-poo, Mama," which is his phrase for both bathroom duties. He does not distinguish, which is really fine - a trip to the toilet is a trip to the toilet. And in case you've missed the prior updates, please understand two things about my just-turned-2-year-old:

1. He is toilet-trained. He's done so well, and I'm a very proud mama. With very few accidents in the past couple weeks, and those being slightly wet pants, I figure he's got this under control.

2. We are blessed with two bathrooms. This is an amazing, wonderful thing, which you can only understand if you've lived in a home with one.

So, back to the story... Obi-2 called to me from just around the corner while I was cleaning up from breakfast in the kitchen. I told him to go to the upstairs bathroom, as I dried my hands and headed up just behind him (I thought). Unfortunately, he wasn't there. He wasn't upstairs at all. I realized this as I heard a faint, "Mama" from the basement playroom.

Uh-oh.

I ran down two flights of stairs (again, it's a gift to have space, except when you are Needed. Right. NOW!). At the bottom of the stairs, I found poor Obi-2 with wet pants.

Not to worry, we'll just clean up and change him and with a patient Mama in her sing-song, "Oh dear, accidents happen, sweetie!" So we headed up stairs, and en route I started to pull the wet jeans off, and only THEN I realized...

He had pooped. For real. In his pants. And I, the bright, calm, collected super-mommy who potty-trains 2-year-olds professionally, had not thought to check.

Poop on his legs, as jeans started to come off.

Poop in the tub, where I set him to finish the undressing.

Poop on the toilet, of course, when he needed to finish the job.

Poop on my jeans, because I was holding him when I pulled his jeans off.

Poop on the stairs, where all of this started.

And now, poop on his brother's sock, because (of course) Obi-1 was headed upstairs.

Did I scream? A little - in agony and exasperation. I mean, seriously, we were all wearing poop!

Did I cry? I didn't have time. I needed clear vision to find the mess.

Did I clean... oh, you betcha! I've been sanitizing the bathroom floor, the stairs, the playroom carpet, the laundry chute, Obi-2, Obi-1, the tub, the toilet. Oh - and not to forget, everyone got a change of socks, jeans, and shirts, and underwear. This is exactly the type of pre-9 am activity that makes me quite tired by naptime.

The only thing not cleaned right now? Laundry, and The Dishes. Those very same dishes I was trying to clean up when all of this started.

Seriously. THIS is the most rewarding job of all time?! Someday my children will "rise up and call me blessed" and I'll find great joy in these memories. Sure...