Shock and Horror

I suppose I should have seen it coming.

I've been quite proud of my productivity over the past few days. I spent most of yesterday cleaning the house, getting it into tip-top shape. Perhaps I should not have taken such pride in my accomplishments ...

This morning I took all three children out to the library. We spent an hour playing at preschool drop-in gym at the YMCA. I packed a sack lunch, and we just happened to meet some good friends when we sat down to eat. The kids all behaved. I chatted with my girl friend. We had a great morning.

I had the kids home and napping by one-thirty in the afternoon. Even Baby Girl slept peacefully in her cradle. I patted myself on the back for being a great mom, read my book for a few minutes, then curled under a blanket and fell blissfully asleep.

An hour later I awoke to the sound of my boys talking and giggling behind the closed door of their room. I rubbed my eyes and quietly hauled myself out of bed, careful not the wake Baby Girl as she snoozed across the room. I stopped for a drink of water and then crossed the hall to the boys' room.

"Hi," I said as I pushed open the door, "Did you guys have a nice..." The question died on my lips as I took in the scene before me. I gasped. I felt sick to my stomach. I briefly considered shutting the door and going back to bed.

My 21-month-old stood in his crib, chewing on the rail. The clothing was missing from the bottom half of his body. His three-year-old brother sat a few feet away on his own bed. He was also missing his clothing. The pages of a Dr. Seuss book were scattered like leaves across the quilt.

But worst of all was the poo --- the brown filth that coated everything. Smeared like finger paint, feces covered the wall, the crib rails, bedding and stuffed animals, my toddler's clothes ... even his face. Poo was ground into the carpet. A toy vacuum sat in the middle of the mess, along with several toy tools.

I stared at the carnage, stunned speechless. I vainly attempted to gather my wits. At that moment I was supremely grateful my husband is a work-at-home dad. Slowly, I backed out of the room. "Don't move," I ordered the boys.

I leaned over the hall railing and called down the stairs, "Ben!! I need you! We have a problem." What an understatement.

Ben came up the stairs, surveyed the scene, and took charge of the situation. I numbly followed orders. I could barely think. I was furious.

We'd had a great day together --- the library, preschool gym, lunch with friends. My house was decently clean, and I had just cleaned the boys' room and tidied their toys. How could my sweet children spoil it by doing something so disgusting?

"Will you tackle the boys or the room?" Ben asked.

"You'd better bath the boys," I replied, "I'm so angry I don't even want to be near them."

Ben ran the tub. I fetched a garbage bag, carpet shampoo, lysol wipes, and a bucket of vinegar solution. I grit my teeth and set to work. Several toys ended up in the trash. I changed all the bedding, scrubbed the walls and crib rails, and shampooed the carpet. All the while I was seething inside.

As Ben bathed our belligerent sons he extracted the full story from the three-year-old. Apparently, the toddler had filled his diaper. He somehow managed to remove his overalls and the offensive diaper, spreading it's stinky contents throughout his crib. He decided to experiment with the forbidden solids, smearing them on the wall and hurling them onto the floor.

His older brother, in an attempt to help, got out of his own bed. (This is a serious offence in our household.) Using preschooler logic, he went into the closet and retrieved his toy vacuum. He tried to vacuum up the feces, but only succeeded in making the mess worse. The three-year-old then tried to scrape the mess out of the carpet with his toy tools.

When that didn't work, my eldest son decided on a different tactic. He pulled a book from the shelf and industriously began tearing out the pages. Why would he do such a thing? He was trying to construct a new diaper for his little brother.

I have to give the kid credit. At least he is a creative problem-solver.

To make a long story short, my boys emerged from their bath with red bums. Ben and I thought long and hard about an appropriate punishment. In the end, we made the boys return the new DVDs we had just borrowed from the library, unwatched. This was an especially upsetting consequence for our young preschooler.

After such an afternoon, bedtime couldn't come soon enough in the Inkster household. At the stroke of eight Ben and I kissed our wayward boys goodnight, softly shut the door to their room, and breathed sighs of relief. I then hugged my husband goodbye and strapped Baby Girl into the bjorn carrier.

I took a loooong walk.

Eventually, I found myself standing at the counter in Starbucks.

Nothing like a grande decaf frappuccino iced coffee (hold the whip cream) to cool a weary mom's anger.