Doodie.

Remember last week when all the kiddies has a stomach bug?  Like a good Mom,  I spent a few days feeding them Emetrol to help settle their little tummies.  Emetrol also has a side effect {so I discovered} it seems to stop up little kids.  Especially little kids named Sam. 

Hi, I'm Sam.

When I left for work on Sunday night, Sam was moaning and groaning on the pot.  Standing up, holding his butt.  He had a big old belly and needed to take care of some business.  I assured my husband it would all work out and left.  The following day, he seemed to be ok, but I texted my husband and asked him if Sam has done "his business".  His answer, "a little".  Hmmmm.  So I'm chatting on the phone with my friend Jessica.  We are laughing and joking about our jobs.  I hear some groaning.  I go into the bathroom to find a naked Sam.  {he always poops naked, what can I say}  Well, he's not pooping, he's squirming.  I reassure him, sit him back on the pot, head out to the family room and go on with my conversation.  "Blah, Blah..."  I stop mid sentence and say "Jessica, you are not going to believe what Sam is carrying".  "WHAT ARE YOU DOING????" I scream at him.  There in both his little hands is a big old doodie.  "I pooped in my hand." Why, yes, yes Sam I can see that, I say. "Jessica?,  I have to go. Sam just shit in his hand."  Shower, new clothes.  Promises to mommy that he will not poop in his hand again.  I have some yard work to do.  I head outside. 

My weed trimmer line breaks and I need a screwdriver from the laundry room.  I see Sam standing at the family room window.  He's trying to get my attention.  But there's something else.  Something on the window.  Something smeared down the window.  And it's brown. 

I open the patio door and am hit in the face with the smell of doodie.  Big doodie.  And it's all over Sam's fingers.  Again I scream "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?????"  He runs toward the bathroom and I see it dripping down his legs.  Little poopy footprints all over the carpet and a big old doodie turd lying lifeless outside the bathroom door.  I look into the bathroom and there's Sam, naked except for his Iron Man t-shirt looking like he just went to town with a bowl of chocolate frosting.  Only, it's not frosting folks.  It's down is legs.  It's on the toilet.  The doorknob.  The shower door.  {I took a picture of him to save for when he's 16 so I can show it to his girlfriend.  I can't show it here, but be sure I texted it to his dad and my friend Jessica.}  Let's just say I think there was some manual disimpaction going on while I was outside.  Another shower.  More promises to mommy to not poop in our hands, or try to remove poop from ourselves.  We take our poop from booty to potty.  That's it.  No middle-man. 

So here's my warning to you mother's.  Let your kids vomit and have diarrhea.  Don't try to stop it with medicine.  Just grin and bear it and remember that you won't have to deal with a stopped up kid a few days later.  Or doodie on your windows.  If you are looking for me, I'll be steam cleaning the carpets.  Again. 

xoxo

sue