Sifting Through the Details

I've been a little scarce on the blog front lately.

It isn't as much from lack of good material to write about (thank you, Park), but more from a lack of energy to write because of the aforementioned material.

Case in point...

At the beginning of the week we had some sand delivered to fill in some spots where our grass needed help. Park, who was certain it was Christmas morning, was covered from head to toe in a matter of 0.5 seconds. After going inside to change over some laundry, I returned to find a n*ked Park tossing handfuls of mud at every window on the backside of our house. Because, apparently, he is nothing if not considerate of keeping his clothes clean.

Seeing as the water hose was exactly where I had left it, I was a little perplexed at how he had managed to str*p off all clothing AND turn sand to mud in such a short period of time. But based on his past expertise in outdoor urination, I should have known even before he tattled on himself.

GROSS.

But, believe it or not, even that is not as gross as what I'm about to share with you. Consider yourself warned.

Later in the week, he had his sifter out, playing in his beloved sand. We had already discussed and been appropriately scolded for the previous incident involving the windows. Feeling pretty secure in his ability to uphold the rules set before him, I went inside to wash dishes. Thankfully, from my vantage point at the sink, I could still see him playing in the backyard because I've been his mother long enough to know that keeping an eye on him at all times is a MUST.

And I felt my pride begin to swell as I watched him, contently sifting sand within the set perimeters.

I found it strange that this simple activity was entertaining him for such a long period of time, though. So, I followed my gut and walked outside for a closer look. As I snuck up behind him, I heard his little voice saying, "No, it sure doesn't. Poopie doesn't sift like sand does. Maybe if I squish it down..."

Insert me leaping tall buildings in a single bound to arrive in time to stop him before said "squishing" could take place.

Without being too graphic, need I remind you that we don't have any dogs or other such animals where he could have simply found the poop. No, unfortunately there was just no getting around that the nastiness in the sifter belonged to the same little man that had just taken outdoor bathroom usages to a whole new level.

Not to worry, though. Like I do with many of the other disturbing behaviors that I have been privy to in the last few years, I immediately contributed this incident to his father's gene pool. To be fair, my mother-in-law did warn me that Chris was a childhood exh*bit*onist. She said keeping clothes on his backside was next to impossible. And what I once laughed at as harmless little stories from Chris' past, I am now living out in excruciating detail.

And here you thought a potty trained Park would mean no more poop stories. Please don't ever underestimate us like that.