So I woke up from my nap to the words, "there is poop on my floor." I can equal this feeling to the same thing as sleeping on the ship and hearing the GQ alarm going off. First response? Oh S***.
I sprang out of bed to see what was wrong. I sent him to my bathroom to stand there while I went and checked out the damage in his room. I peeked in and new that it was not a joke, although I am not sure if this is something he would joke about. And that it was bigger than a five minute job. So I went back to him with the diaper wipes this time and started cleaning him off. And the story came out. "I was bending over to get pick out some books and the poop just came out fast mommy." I get rid of my angry pants at this point and kept listening. He has not had a poop accident in over nine months, so I am assuming he got sick. "And then I tried to clean it up by myself to help you." So as I am scraping the dried on poop off of his butt I am putting it together in my head. He got sick, took off his pants and underwear, poop got on the floor, he then tried to clean it up himself. While he did this, the poop on his butt dried out. I stuck him in my shower and told him to stand there and hose off. I then went to his room. Poor dear had taken diaper wipes and "helpfully" smeared the poop into the carpet in three different places. And of course I don't have any carpet cleaner. Or anything like it. Is swear I had some simple green, but I have no idea where that is. So I grab kitchen cleaner. Cleaner is cleaner right? No. Bleach should not go on carpet. Now the damage I did is not so bad, I have really light carpets so it is not blaringly obvious. And the poop is up and that is all I care about.
Now in the real world, someone would of gotten overtime for this, and in the military hazard duty pay and most assuradly a NAM. My reward came in the form of a little boy in the shower singing his heart out to Barbara Ann. I would still like to know where to submit my paperwork though.
Family Missions in Houston
3 weeks ago