Just thought I'd share this disturbing story from yesterday. Timothy came out around bedtime holding a large sponge and looking sheepish. He announced to his father that he was done cleaning his shelf and could he please have dessert now. I looked up from my knitting and asked the seemingly innocent question, "What was wrong with your shelf?"
Timothy grinned rather wickedly and stated, "It was covered in poop! Daddy said I had to clean it up before I could have dessert."
My mouth dropped open and I turned to Chris. "You had him cleaning up poop? He's not old enough to do that by himself? What was it, cat poop?"
Chris said, "Nope, not cat poop."
This gave me pause. I finally worked up the nerve to ask, "Was it human poop?" I wasn't sure I wanted the answer to that one, really.
"Not exactly," was Chris' reply.
It took me a while to get the full story, but the long and short of it is that Chris had gone into the boys' room for something and discovered that Timothy had written the word "poop" no less than 20 times all over his white bookshelves in various shades of crayon. As Timothy later explained, "There was red poop and blue poop and orange poop...all the colors of poop."
It would be better if Timothy never knows how hard we laughed when he was safely in bed.