The Mysterious Case of Poop in the Tub

Disclaimer: Some of the things you're about to read may make you want to judge me as a parent, and maybe even as a human being. Resist that urge.

It all started after a long-ass day of solo parenting. The boys were getting restless, hungry and tired, and Dadd-O was due home any minute. I opened a can and microwaved made their dinner and tried to get them to focus, but they were still all over the place- take a bite, jump on the couch, take a bite play with trucks- which was making a mess and driving me batty! Chef Boyardee stains, you guys!

"Bath time!" I cheered, trying to drum up interest. "But we're still eating," said the big one. "You can eat IN the bath!" That should at least keep the mess contained, right? They both happily stripped down naked, they're boys after all, and climbed into the tub. I took turns feeding them each a bite. By request, I pretended they were my baby birds (minus the pre-chewing and spitting into their baby bird mouths, sorry Alicia Silverstone). And then, something amazing happened- Daddo came home! "You're feeding them in the tub?" he asked. "Just go with it," I said and quickly passed off bath duty, I seriously hate bath duty, and retreated to the kitchen to make the adult dinner.

Washing, chopping, sauteing, roasting... all with the sounds of bath time in the background. I hear, "If you guys are good and let me wash your hair, we can go get a creemee." Daddo popped in to the kitchen to sneak a kiss and quickly discuss how our days went. And that's when it happened...

"JAXY POOPED IN THE TUB!"

"Shit!" We both said, in unison.

We've been through this before, so we have a systematic approach. Daddo promptly gets the boys out of the tub, cleaned in the sink (if necessary), dried off and dressed, while I tackle the hazmat situation in the tub. Daddo has a so-called "weak stomach." Whatev. I don a single blue rubber glove that I found on the floor and take all the toys out of the tub and move them to the sink for decontamination (i.e. soaking in hot water and bleach). I run the shower to wash the poop down the drain... but this poop won't budge. I bend down slowly, to examine said poop, which still won't move. With my gloved hand I reach down and pick up the poop only to realize it's a FUCKING MEATBALL!!

"HARRISON!!!!!"

This next part is a bit of a blur. I tried to stifle my hysterical laughter, while teaching an important parenting lesson. Harrison spent some time in his room thinking, while I threw all the toys back in to the tub... and it turns out, he didn't want to wash his hair. He figured if there was "poop" in the tub, they'd have to get out and he'd be off the hook. I got myself together and had a talk about lying, how it's not OK, blah, blah, blah. And to drive that lesson home, we didn't go get a creemee... THAT was the hardest part of this whole debacle.