Yesterday morning, the Man left for work around 8 am. I don't get up then. I get up when
Boy: I did a poopy.
Boy: In da bafrum.
Me: Hooray (mumbled, half asleep).
Boy: Mommy, you come clean me?
Boy: I gotta poopy on my toe.
The sight (and smell) that greets me when I rush into the kid's bathroom is not a pleasant one. Apparently, he didn't quite make it to the potty. He had pooped in his pull-up. Thinking he could handle the situation himself, he had removed it (schmearing it all down his legs) and then climbed on the potty to finish. Then, seeing the brown footprints on the floor and bathmat, he had moved the stool over to the sink and attempted to clean the floor by dumping cuploads of water mixed with handsoap on the floor.
After getting him cleaned up, I then am faced with cleaning the bathroom. When I finished, I had never been so ready for a shower in my life.