A Big Old Handful

I can't make this stuff up. 

Today is not trash day. Tomorrow is trash day. I thought that I would be a good little housewife today and clean the trash from the garage to make Husband Dearest happy, then drag all the trash out to the curb tonight, instead of scrambling to get it done in the morning. While I was dragging things out to the curb, I could hear little E3 screeching inside the house. Not a screech of pain, but his very discernible "I'm pissed!" screech. I did not hurry. As I was about to pick up all the little pieces of junk the big dogs had shredded and strewn about the garage, E2 opens the door, "Mama, E3 is stuck." Sigh. E3 has recently learned how to climb unsecured drawers in the kitchen. There's only three or four drawers and they have all of the kid cups in them or are empty. The boys love to play with them and it keeps me from needing to get E2 a cup every. single. time. he's sssssooooo ttttthhiirrssttyyy. 

When I reentered the house, leaving all the bits and pieces of trash around the garage, I saw he was definitely stuck. E3 had climbed into the bottom drawer, then pulled the next drawer open over the top of him. He did the same thing the day prior, only he flipped out and smushed his face on the hardwood floor giving him Baby's First Bloody Nose. 

After disengaging Baby Climbs A Lot, I tried to go back to my trash pick up duty. "Mama, I have to poop," a deadpanned four year old snuck in front of me, just to make me very aware of his bodily function necessities. He then turned and walked to the bathroom. 

I just stood there, shaking my head. My daily conversations have changed a lot since I went to working only part time. E3 shot through the living room, tailing brother. At least I'm not the only person that doesn't get to poop in peace. 

FINALLY I could at least replace the trash bag in the kitchen. Just as I'm shaking the bag to put it in the can my sweet, darling little E2 yells from the shitter, "Moooom, he's going to touch the poop!"

WHAT. 

HOW can a BABY touch POOP IN the toilet? 

I ran. But not fast enough. "Mooom he's holding the poooooop!"

He was holding the poop. E2 stood up to wipe his butt (yay he's wiping his own ass! That's a big hairy deal!) as he hasn't mastered the lean technique yet. In doing so, he left the pot open for the unleashing of ninja moves from our 10 month old angel baby E3.  

When I skid into the bathroom, E3 was bringing his hand out of the toilet with a nice, big chunk of poop smashed in his tiny little fist. 

Now get on my level. Slow things down a bit. Let's give this image that special effect 3D image of zoom. He's bringing his hand to his face, he's opening his mouth... 

NOOOOO!

He stopped just as I smacked his hand down, making him cry and throwing half the turd back into the toilet, half onto the tile. I saved him. I saved me. No poop was consumed. 

I scooped little E3 up and immediately thrust his hands under the sink to scrub. I'm flustered, to say the least. As I'm scrubbing his little poop scoops, I hear the door open. Husband's home. "Court, did you miss the trash!? The trash is still out!? And you didn't pick up the garage..."