Holy Crap: Once, Twice, Three Times A Turd.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury poop, not to praise it...dang dog done. Mrs. James (My 11th Grade English Lit teacher at Chuck Page High School) would be so proud of me using a line from Shakespeare in my Team Tinsley Blog.

You don't care about Mrs. James though - you want to know why I'm using the Julius Ceasar reference? Simple. It was the Ides of March...and fortuna's wheel was spinning my way yet again in regard to fecal matter. Pull up a chair. Dig this.

I, recumbent on the cold bathrooom floor post rub a dub dubbing (read: washing) Boy #1. He was busy doing the post rub a dub dub play thing...pouring bath water from cup to cup, taking the occasional drink, as well as getting it on the bathroom floor. From my vantage point, I could only see the Boy's upper torso and head. He was having fun. I was zoning out. Weary. Long Day at Work+Seasonal Allergy Discomfort=Tired Daddy. I was about to muster the strength to hop up and start the process of extracting the Boy out of his Bathtime fun - when he shocked me back into the now with his Mr. Clean mantra- 'clean up - clean up - clean up - clean up' - my first thought - HOLY SHIT - sadly, I was correct.

Remember the great movie, Caddyshack? Alas, this was no Babyruth. It was an actual turd - or turds - floating in the bath with Boy #1 who was quite distressed. He was still doing the 'clean up clean up clean up clean up clean up' thing, I guess hoping the words would have magic power and make the poop floating in the tub go away. Unfortunately, life isn't like it is on TV on Bewitched. The shit had already hit the fan (if you'll excuse the pun.)

SO - I snag Boy #1 up and out of the water only to discover that he had crap all over his left leg. I quickly shuffle him to my left arm so I can one arm football hold him while I grab the kiddy soap w/ my right hand...of course, I'm a complete uncoordinated dork spaz and I can't operate the hand pump one handed. Meanwhile...clean up clean up clean up clean up clean up is getting more whiney by the second. Not to mention the flood we're creating all over the bathroom floor.

So, I grab a scoop of water and splash off the crap the best I can and then bolt for the other bathroom in our room (our being me and Cart.) Clean up clean up clean up - has now turned to crying and wailing and requests to go to the front room. "Daddy, front room please." Carter would love us coming into the front room dripping water, covered in shit...so I have to shitcan (pun intended) the Boy's Plan and go with my own...which is putting the Boy through a Silkwood-esque (damn, I'm citing movies left and right in this here entry) shower to try and get him washed of fecal matter. I'm successful, and after some comforting I take him to get suited up for night night time and deposit him on Sofa City with his Mom and Baby Brother. They had wisely sat out the drama in the ass-end (pun intended) of the house.

Now where's my Hazmat Suit? Oh yeah, I don't have one!!!

Deep breathe for yours truly and off to clean up the mess that we made from the mess. Water on the floor, fecal matter in the bathtub. Etc. Fast forward thirty minutes, a bottle of bleach, and a costume change for yours truly and I deposited my self on the sofa with the family, with a shitty (literally) day in the rearview.

Three poop stories (two involving me) in less than a week. Light a candle, say a prayer for me people. No more poop for a few days. A boy named Stu doesn't want or need a doodie trifecta.

Until I BLOG again - Peace.