Event-o-meter

So, it all started Friday night when I didn't feel like staying at home. When Patrick travels for work, I decided to start a little tradition with Luke. Once on the weekend we go on date night, and while I typically save it for Sunday, that just seemed too far away this weekend. After work, Luke, Claire, and I loaded up into the car and headed to the best spot in town - McDonald's. Luke I and shared 100 packets of ketchup, chicken nuggies and fries while Claire slept. -Rating on the event-o-meter: 1.0

Then, we (I) decided we should go to Target. I zipped through the store picking up the odds and ends I needed without delay because we were getting close to bed time. I thought I had managed to pull off this feat successfully, that is, until we were in the checkout line. Claire had decided she needed to be held while shopping, so it was much easier to just unload the cart with one hand than listen to her scream if buckled back in her seat. So there I was unloading items one at a time when I looked at Luke out of the corner of my eye. His face was red....he was staring off into space.....tears were coming out of his eyes. No, he was not choking....he was POOPING!!! For anyone with a toddler, you know that their poop smells like real man poop as soon as they start eating real food. The lethal scent began to tickle my nose hairs, but I pretended not to notice and picked up the pace on unloading the cart. Just when we were about to make our escape and I had whipped out my credit card, Claire's face turned the same shade as Luke's, only she wasn't kind enough to keep her business contained in a diaper. Instead, she hurled her guts out down my shirt, inside my shirt, splattered on the floor, the cart, and between my toes in my flip flops. Oh no. Unfortunately, I had not been restocking my paper towel supply that day, so as I rummaged through the diaper bag looking for a burp cloth the nice target lady just stood there staring at me. Thankfully, another lady who was checking out a few rows over ran to help saying, "I have four kids! Let me help you!" aka "Oh, you poor soul! You must be so embarrassed! This happens to every mom at some point or another so let's get you the heck out of here before this gets any worse!" - Rating on the event-o-meter: 5.5

Fast forward to Sunday afternoon. Both kids had been angels all morning, and much to my amazement, both seemed ready for a nap at the same time. Typically, Luke sits in bed, reads a book, sips on his water, chit chats with his imaginary friends, and goes right to sleep; however, that did not seem to be the case today. Claire drifted right off to sleep in her swing, but Luke seemed extra talkative. I didn't care because I was determined to squeeze in a workout while I had the chance. When I was done, he was still talking, but not crying. Translate this to: "GO TAKE SHOWER NOW WHILE PEACE EXISTS!!!" By this point, he had been in his crib for almost two hours and still no sign of a nap. He was yelling more than peacefully talking, so I gave in and finally headed for his room. Then it hit me: that smell. Yep, the same smell that tickled my nose hairs in Target. The panic set in because, did I mention that Luke's new favorite activity is to take off his clothes? Before I even opened the door, I knew it wasn't going to be pretty, and there was no one to save me. I turned the handle, pushed open the door, and tried not to gag. There he was -  A happy little two-year-old jumping up and down in his crib, butt-ass naked, with poo smeared across the bed, on the crib, and a few little chunks on the floor. Holy shit. Now, I know you think this sounds funny, and it was in a sad "you are by yourself and you can't leave shit smeared everywhere until Patrick gets home next week" sort of way.  Rating on the event-o-meter: 8.5

Now, if you'll excuse me, I hear Luke talking in his crib.