Apple juice and Jesus

Yesterday was an odd day.  Every time I think I have this parenting thing ALLLLLLL figured out and absolutely nothing will ruffle my feathers; well, my feathers get a bit flustered and ruffled.  Probably doesn't hurt them to get aired out once in a while anyway.

I may or may not have let Kenyon OD on apple juice a few days ago.  I knew it was coming; the inevitable barrage of loose stools that follow any such apple product binge.

I was in the utility room switching around laundry yesterday when I heard the beginning rumblings of action in Kenyon's pants.  No biggie, right?  Happens every day, and like I said, I've pretty much got this whole parenting thing ALLLLLL figured out.

He bent over to play with something on the floor.  As he squatted down, the back of his shirt lifted up and poop shot up and out of the back of his diaper.  Seriously.  A nice little puddle of the scoots right there on my utility room floor.  I shrieked a bit, which made Kenyon stand up.  He looked at me for a second with his puzzled grin, then squatted back down to play once more.  Cue the poop fountain once again.

This time I managed to shriek and yell "DON'T MOVE" which every one year old knows is code-speak for "RUN EVERYWHERE FRANTICALLY WHILE MOM CHASES YOU."

As you can imagine, I had to add "clean utility room" to my list of to-dos later that afternoon.

I finally caught and carried Kenyon across the house to the bathroom.  I sat him in the tub, still fully clothed, and proceeded to start undressing him.  When it came time to take off the poopy shorts, we had a bit of a dilemma.  I have drilled it into his head that he is NOT to ever stand in the bathtub where he could slip and fall.  Never, ever.  He's gotten swats on the bottom for standing up.  Seriously, I cannot reiterate this enough.  No standing shall ever happen in the tub.

Therefore, yesterday when I tried to stand him in the tub so I could slip his shorts off, we had a bit of a struggle.  I was holding him a foot above the tub, gently shaking him back and forth in an attempt to have him straighten his legs out and stand.  He kept his legs at a firm 90 degree angle and started writhing back and forth, uttering all sorts of curses and hexes upon me.

Not that I have been to many (any) baptist revivals, but I would imagine Kenyon was acting like he was at one while contorting his body around.  "Let go of me, Satan, my mom told me to never stand in the tub!  I won't do it!  I will not be tempted!"

Once I imagined my son calling me Satan I decided it was worth the extra scrubbing and mopping of the bathroom floor to let Kenyon 'win' and not stand in the tub.  I let him stand in the middle of the bathroom floor while I stripped his poopy clothes off him.

Approximately two hours later, when I finally finished bathing my child, mopping up poopy messes and other fun tasks I decided that it was pretty neat that Kenyon refused to stand in the tub.  No doubt due to our superior parenting skills.  Maybe we do have this parenting thing alllllll figured out.  Ha. Ha. Ha.....