To Tell or Not to Tell

I've been going back and forth on whether or not to write about this experience in the blog. I mean, there are some things that happen in life that are really great stories, but there are only a few people you can get away with telling them to. These are people who will love you anyways, once they know the horrible truth of what happened. When I told my husband what happened, he immediately said "that's going on the blog," but I wasn't so sure. I mean, some of you reading this might one day buy a baby blanket from me. Or perhaps you already have - do I want you to know these things happen to me? Well, I thought about it and went back and forth, and finally decided what the heck. Maybe I'm not the only one.

Moses has never been one of those kids who gets into things. He didn't pick up and eat tiny objects as a baby, and we've never had any of those America's Funniest Home Videos moments where I went into the next room (perhaps this is because I don't have a "next room" in my minescule house) and found him naked and covered in diaper rash cream. He's never been one of those kids... until this week. This week he made up for 3 years of not getting into things. This week he squirted all of Titus' saline nasal spray into the heater vent. This week he fertilized his entire room with baby powder. This week he made me a "basket of knitting needles":
out of the other basket:
And this week he did something else. Something I was absolutely not prepared for. This week he pooped in the back yard. That's right. My 3 year old son, who has been fully potty trained for over a year, voluntarily dropped his drawers, not once, but TWICE and pooped in our back yard. I missed his first "session." All I caught was the guilty look he cast me over his shoulder as he came walking around from behind the rose bushes. I asked him several times what he had done, and he kept giving me an innocent "nothing!" Then, as he made his way to the lavender and started pulling down his pants, I felt a twinge of alarm. "Moses, what are you doing?" He responded, "I think Thor wants to poop in these bushes..." This is when my dusty psychology degree kicked in: "Wait a minute... when he says Thor [the dog], is he talking about himself?!?!" And sure enough: session number two.

I ran out there and made him stop (what?) and ran him inside to the human toilet, tossing all his clothes into the hamper as I went. After a very serious conversation about why dogs can poop outside and humans can't (all I could come up with is "because that's the way the world works."), I headed back outside to take care of his poop. And this is where sharing this story becomes questionable. I walked over to the poop wondering "What would Brett do?" because he is always the one who handles poop and dead birds in the yard. I had finally settled on a strategy involving a long-handled shovel and a plastic bag, when nature took care of the problem for me. The dog ate the poop.

It all happened so fast that there was really no way I could stop it. To be completely honest, I don't know if I was more horrified that my dog had just eaten my son's poop, or relieved that I had just gotten out of cleaning it up myself. Unbelievable.

So now you know. And now you should also know that all Junie None products and materials are stored in air-tight plastic bins far away from the reach of roaming pooping 3 year olds and poop eating dogs. I promise!