The boys rode their scooters to school this morning, and halfway to school Egg tried growing a tail, if you know what I mean. Which you don’t. He managed to create a nice, large, firm poop that stuck straight out of his bottom and created, oh, let’s call it a Reverse Tent Effect in his sweatpants.
Now, the school is just under a mile each way. I knew I’d be carrying a blanket (don’t all fathers of three year olds carry blankets at least SOME of the time?) so did I have a change of clothes for Egg? No. No, I did not.
I texted the wife, just in case we’d need the poo shuttle to come pick us up from school.
Of course we had left about five minutes late for the walk to school, so I knew we’d be cutting it close to when the Bacon was due in his first grade class. So I was trying to keep them moving. Quickly. Please.
A little note about Egg. And maybe this is true of most kids. I don’t know. I don’t raise most kids. I have the Bacon and the Egg. And the Egg — when he has an accident involving poo — somehow it fills his little feet with lead. It’s like someone slips him some downers. And he moves slower. And slower. And. Slower.
Somehow by the grace of God (and some nice crossing guards) we get to school in time to run to the boys’ restroom, strip Egg half naked, and survey the damage. Saints be praised! He’s dropped a grenade that rolls right out of his Thomas underpants, right into the toilet bowl, and the TP does the rest. No harm, no foul (well, a little foul). No poo shuttle.
Got Bacon to his class just in time. And then Egg and I got to enjoy the harried look on the faces of the parents whose kids were REALLY late. And I wanted to ask them how many were late due to poo. Answer: none.
The rest of the day got considerably better after that.