It's only 'cause you've got a hand to lend

Kitchen tongs or my hand? What a gloriously curious dilemma for Sunday morning coming down. I've typed it before, and I'll type it again, Easy my ass, Lionel Richie was full of shit. As was our toilet. You see, Dear Reader, the Elder Boy was perched over it, howling. Me. Well up until a few moments ago I had been enjoying my first cup of coffee for the day, and trying to make sense of my quarterly 401(k) statement. So engrossed was I, that I vaguely remember Ethan announcing that he had to go poop, and inviting Wyatt to join him. That's not uncommon at our pad. Wy Wy almost always goes to the bathroom with Ethan. Ethan poops and Wyatt sits on a little stool and watches and reads magazines.

The howling by the Elder Boy isn't common however, so off I ran with a cup of coffee in one hand and my 401(k) statement in the other. Super Dad storming into the shitter. Ethan was still howling, perched over the kid toilet seat (it has Sponge Bob on it) and raising an incredible ruckus. Clearly agitated, he was holding his body up off of the seat, as if he was trying to get off it, backwards. Screaming like some jungle monkey. Wy Wy was over at the sink, on the stool, completely oblivious, brushing his teeth. I gave the Younger Boy a curious look, figuring he might have something to do with this situation. Wy Wy simply gave me his gee aren't I cute smile and said, "Hi."

Considering that I was set to go to Church in less than an hour, I'm not proud to say, that the first thing out of my mouth was this: "What in the hell is going on in here!" Nothing. Ethan kept right on howling, as he continued his backwards dismount off of the seat, which was smearing feces all over said seat and his buttocks. Wy Wy. He kept right on brushing his teeth.

Right about now, you might be asking yourself, where was the Boy(s) Mom? My Lovely Bride? She was on strike. She had sequestered herself in our bedroom, after having a difficult moment with the Elder Boy in our kitchen over a cup of hot chocolate and an ice cube. I was on my own.

"What in the HELLis going on here." Again, nothing. Ethan was trying to get it together, but still having a difficult time, speaking in that crazy jagged crying speak. Wy Wy. Brushed his teeth.

"Wy (sob sob sob sob)...Wy (sob sob sob sob)...Wy (sob sob sob)..." was all Ethan could say.
"What?!?"
"Wy (sob sob sob sob)...Wy (sob sob sob sob)...Wy (sob sob sob)..."

Frustrated, confused, and, well being the tremendous dip shit that I am, I turned my probing over to my 22 month old Boy, who was busy brushing his teeth.
"Wy Wy...WHAT did you do to Bubba?"
"Hi." was all I got.

Ethan was calming down enough by this point to get his point across.
"Wy (sob sob sob sob)...Wy (sob sob sob sob)...Wyatt (sob sob sob)...Wyatt threw (sob sob) truck (sob sob sob) into (sob) toilet."
Wyatt, sensed the conversation was turning toward him, and turned around on the stool, and pointed his tooth brush at his accuser, and said, I shit you not, "Hi."

Ethan lost it. More mad than sad, he erupted into what can best by described as a Muad'Dib yell at his brother, if you dig that nerdy Dune reference. Wyatt returned the yell. Me. I stood in the middle, looking down between Ethan's legs into the toilet, which did in fact, have a fire truck in it. Right next to a turd. Thus, I asked myself this: Tongs or my hand.

Until I BLOG again...My hand.