Poop

Last night I spy this funny-colored popsicle stick on the living room floor and I picked it up to deposit it in la basura. The bottom half looked like a normal popsicle stick, but the upper half was rough; pink on one side, burgundy on the other. Turns out the "popsicle stick" was actually an emery board, and my dearest Noah had somehow eaten the coating off of half of the thing. That might explain what happened next...

The boys often bathe together. While they were in the tub we hear these frantic pleas from Nick: "Daddy! Daddy! OH NOOOOOOO!" The M.R.S. and I look at each other to see who's going to go upstairs to see what's happened this time (usually it's Noah getting out of the tub to run around naked, or one of the boys has soap in his eyes), and her look silently informs me that indeed, Daddy will be the responder to the SOS. I bound up the stairs in a couple of steps and burst into the bathroom. Lucky me! My boy Noah had indeed gotten out of the tub - but not to run around... Not at all. Apparently something he ate didn't agree with him (I wonder what that could be?) and he had to go. Right there on the floor. And in the tub. Nick's frantic yelling had frightened him, so now he's crying. My pleas for help fell on deaf ears ("They asked for you, Daddy!"), so I get the boys out of the tub, tidy Noah up, put on my Haz-Mat suit, and decontaminate the lavatory. I don't think I've ever seen two boys more happy to see Daddy break out the Dow with Scrubbing Bubbles. Ah, the joys of child-rearing. Maybe it's time to start the potty training.

Nick, of course, didn't recall doing the same exact thing to Jalen when they were in the tub together 5 years ago.