Yesterday, we made the tragic decision to actually venture out of our house with the hopes of buying Monkey Man some new clothes. We'd all been slumming around in our pajamas so finally Joey came out of the Man Cave and announced that if we were serious about going anywhere, we needed to get our asses in gear, hop in the shower and get a move on.
Okey dokey. Don't have to tell me twice! So I turned the shower on and let it get good and warmed up while I putzed around straightening a few things up. Monkey Man was parked on the sofa watching the umpteenth episode of iCarly and Joey was last seen headed into the powder room off of the kitchen with a magazine.
As an aside here, what is it with men and their need to carry reading materials into the bathroom? Honestly, maybe it's just me, but I go in there to take care of one thing and one thing only - flush and then done. Joey will sit in there for what seems like an eternity reading, it's almost like he's dyslexic unless he's actually sitting on the toilet with his pants around his knees.
But, I digress. So I'm all in the middle of my shower, shampoo done and conditioner in my hair while I shave my legs when suddenly, Monkey Man appears out of nowhere sobbing like a hysterical animal.
"Honey, what's wrong?"
"Mwaaaaaaah, bbbgptth...waaaaaahhhhhhh...." he howled. Seriously, I couldn't even begin to imagine what the hell was wrong.
What I managed to piece together was that apparently he had to visit the potty as well...and being the little independent man that he is and finding that Daddy had ensconced himself in the powder room, he decided to go up to his bathroom on the top floor and do his business. But when it came time to wipe, he encountered some problems...hollered for help and of course, no one came. Oops.
So he did what any six-year-old would do. He pulled up his britches and started to come downstairs, and then the reality hit. Shitty britches. Therefore probably winning him a serious tongue-lashing from his Mommy. Therefore producing said hysterics.
I told him it was okay...everyone has accidents...so I had him strip down with the idea that he could just hop in the shower with me. I figured he was already so emotionally scarred from the whole poop thing that seeing Mommy naked was probably not going to make things any worse. I told him to go ahead and get a washcloth out of the closet in our bathroom - which he did - and then he came on in.
Oh. My. Lord. There was poop everywhere. And to my horror, all over his hands...which had been in my linen closet digging for a washcloth. Not to mention he had to get from the second floor down to our bathroom...Ye gods.
Anyhow, thanks to the little handheld shower head I managed to defunk him pretty quickly and wiped the tears away, he got fresh clothes and the world was good.
My linen closet...not so much. Thank goodness for Clorox is all I have to say.
So one small step for self-sufficency, one giant leap into obsessing over what else in my house could possibly be smeared with poop.