I told you so

You know it's a bad idea. Past experience has taught you that it's a very bad idea. And yet, when you hear Ian partying in his room at 3:00 am, and you have already checked on him once, the temptation to just lay your head  on your pillow and fall back asleep is irresistable...so you think positive thoughts and hope for the best. Zzzzzz...


Fast forward several hours-----


John comes back in the room after checking on Ian with one word: "Poop." This can only mean one thing; Ian has pooped at some point during his party session, taken off his diaper and has been happily creating poop art throughout his room. I get up without a word, and off we go. John and I have choreographed poop clean-up like a ballet: we pirouette through collecting poopy blankets and pillows, and leap gracefully around scrubbing walls and windows and, of course, Ian. There are very few words exchanged, except for the occasional "Yuck!" and "Ewww!" Our poor washing machine has done double, triple, even quadruple duty over the years cleaning poopified articles----I hope it holds out. It's over 20 years old, but I pray daily to the Great Washing Machine God that it continues to do its very good work for a few more years. It's making some odd noises; I choose to ignore them. Ignorance is bliss.


All this takes about 45 minutes. Standard procedure. No big deal. Just another poopy day. Sigh.


Hey, Merry Christmas Eve Day everyone!