father of the year

It was my turn to watch the kids. I could stop the blog there.

But I won't.

Kara was gone volunteering at the high school youth group. It was nearing bath time. I always look forward to bath time. Why? Because after bath time, is story time. Then comes bed time. The perfect ending to a long day of parenting. More for my wife than me. But it's still a special time of day.

My son looks at me and says, "Dada. Pee-pee". Code for "Dad, I have to go pee". Not very code-like, but it works. I say, "Alright, let's go pee-pee" in my parent cheerleader voice. He takes his position in front of the miniature toilet and I quickly drop his pants to his knees.

This is the moment when life goes slow-motion...as I realize that he also should have told me "Dada, Poo-poo" or code for "Dad, I filled my shorts".

Poop flies out at me. Not a small amount. Not a large amount. But just right.

Caleb stumbles backward and plants his foot right in the center of the poopsicle.

I react like any good parent would. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"

His look told me he doesn't speak English yet. I lifted him into the tub where I attempted to cleanse him of the mess.

Little did I know that Sam was tip-toeing behind me to check out the poop that was still on the floor. I turned just as she was dipping her animal cracker in it like a Red Robin french fry in ranch dressing.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!?"

No response. At least not what I had hoped the response would be. I had hoped there would be an explanation of why she thought that eating her brother's caca was a good idea. Again, a look that told me my efforts to reason went unnoticed and ignored.

Bathtime came and went. Storytime was skipped. Bedtime was satisfying.

I have since repented and returned my award plaque for "father of the year".