Okay, here's post number two and stories like these are the whole reason behind this blog. Here's the disclaimer, though. We are at potty training age, so many of our adventures revolve around such. If you're squeamish about such things, don't read on. Go eat a brownie and read Better Homes & Gardens. Now, here goes. After being ill for two weeks, the kids are finally starting to feel better. However, emotions are still delicate and Judsen seems to once again be struggling with potty training. So, in a rare show of mercy, Josh and I have decided to lay off the potty talk with Judsen for a week until he can compose himself and get back on the porcelain horse. So yesterday I knew he had to poo, he knew he had to poo, and poo he did. I didn't say anything, but let him handle it the way he wanted to. Being his small, helpful self, he took off his underwear in the bathroom and proceeded to begin wiping himself. Sounds good, right? I walked in the bathroom to find bile smeared down both of his legs and all over the front of the toilet and a Mt. Everest-sized pile of toilet paper in the pot. Oh man. Swallowing the scream that rose to my throat, I put him in the bathtub and began washing him. Of course this is a disgusting mess and I am trying to get both Judsen and the bathtub clean. While waiting for the dirty water to drain, Felicity decides she can hold off no longer - she needs a bath NOW! So, she swan dives into the bathtub fully clothed, boots, jacket, everything. Of course the kids think this is hilarious, and this time I don't hold back the scream that arises. There are wet clothes, naked children and poop flakes all over the place by this time, so I holler at them to get to the back of the bathtub, don't touch anything until all the water drains out, and if you could refrain from making noise for the rest of your life, that would be great. Eventually, we got the tub clean and all was well, but my goodness.

Getting dressed every morning is no less of an adventure. It's a miracle to me that we ever make it anywhere on time. This morning I find Judsen walking around in just his underwear and the t-shirt he wore to bed. He insists he needs to watch a movie and being the good mom that I am, I tell him we all need to get dressed first. I send him in his room to do this. Of course we have baskets of clean laundry around the house waiting to be folded, so I have to track down a complete outfit for Felicity. While I am doing this, I ask Judsen again to find a shirt and pants. "No Mom, I want to wear this shirt," he tells me, pointing to his sleeping shirt. After a few half-hearted attempts to change his mind, I give in and just ask him to find pants. At this point I have collected a shirt and socks for Felicity and have to run into the other room for the pants she had walked off wearing on her head. While in the other room, I find the pants I have asked Judsen to put on and bring them to him. "Please put these on." "Okay, I will." He doesn't. I eventually track down a diaper for Felicity and begin to dress her, and Judsen begins to stab her with the bike pump and plunger handle he has adopted as his favorite toys. I ask him to please stop. Of course he doesn't. Finally I suggest he get some pants on and then swordfight with some stuffed animals. He considers this such a good suggestion that he doesn't wait for pants, and begins throwing stuffed animals from the closet. He finds what he's looking for and then launches into a lecture of all he knows about these animals, still half naked. "This is a big brown bear! It is 10 feet long!" "Monkeys say, 'Ee-oo-ee-oo'." He then passes out animals to his now-dressed-but-still-raggedy-haired sister. "I'm a big bear and she's a baby bear!" "Judsen! Put your pants on!" I finally take the animals and swords away and shove the waistband of the pants onto his head. Maybe that will distract him from his distractions. He did finally put his pants on, but the episode was apparently so taxing that I find myself still wearing the basketball shorts and dirty long-sleeve T I threw on on my way out of bed so I could make Josh breakfast. Shalisse laughs at how Josh and I dress; Josh is a dentist, but we both dress like we're homeless. Well, considering what it takes just to get 50% of our household decently clothed, can you blame us?