Here at Twinisms, we’ve had more than our fair share of discussion about poop. I’ve been pooped on, had poop smeared in my house, ordered clean up of major poop, and learned how five-year-old boys deal with stubborn poop.
Needless to say, I don’t have a problem with it. I have two sets of twins. I’m used to poop. I’m not degraded or embarrassed by it. I don’t get upset. It doesn’t even make me think my children are crazy.
I question my own sanity, but rarely because of poop.
But every once in a while something happens that makes me think I might not be in control. That I might not have raised the children right. That I should not, under any circumstances, take them out in public.
Daylight savings is hard on kids, they wake up early and are exhausted long before bed time. This week Reese and Jackson have gotten up an hour before their usual time. That means I have more than two hours to kill before school starts. We knock out breakfast, getting dressed, brushing teeth and hair with an hour leftover. In an effort to be a half-decent parent, I pulled out the drawing supplies to pass the time. Markers, crayons, scissors, glue, and paper. It’s quite a mess for 6 AM, but it seemed worth it.
After a few minutes of happy coloring Jackson said, “UH OH! I have to go to the bafroom!”
(That’s usually how bowel movements occur in our house. Sudden and with lots of distress. Having birthed two sets of twins, I completely understand his behavior.)
Jackson came out with an odd look on his face. His pointer finger was pointed out straight and he was staring at it. He looked from his finger to me and back to his finger.
“Jackson, did you wash your hands?”
“Jackson, do you need to wash them again?”
I could see the wheels churning in his little brain. “There’s a brown marker over there. I could smear this on my paper and it would look like marker. No one would ever know.”
“Jackson, go wash your hands.”
His eyes gave away the thought, “They’ll never know. There’s a tree in my picture. I’m sure I can find the green crayon to make it look like a tree. Maybe Reese will help me.”
It was 6 AM. I’d only had one cup of coffee. I considered letting it slide. My better instincts kicked in. Or perhaps it was the potential stinky artwork. I dragged him to the bathroom and washed his hands.
Especially under the fingernails.
Mornings since have been spent with Sponge Bob.
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