I don't make this up.

Yes, this really happened. No, I did not make it up.

Brief synopsis of our day before the mayhem: Ran, started stairclimbing, kids up at 6:45, fed everyone, played, finished stairclimbing, gardened, tended to animals (farm animals not my kids here), went to Murray and swam with my sister, niece, and nephew, burnt to a crisp (don't call me Tori, call me Tortilla, as in crispy Tortilla), cleaned up house so it didn't look like a tornado had been through, started supper.

Setting: One baby in the crib, one 5 year old on a couch, and one 3 year old ran outside. Mom running around the house.

Ethan is trying to recuperate from a long day swimming, Caleb of course now has energy to go on for hours, and Linley is asleep. I'm on the phone with my twin sister and what do I see? Caleb, entering the house, with black marks all over his entire body, except for his face (thank goodness). Hands, arms, palm of his hands, fingernails, ankles, tops of feet, shirt. What in the world? Oh, I know. He found the KING SIZE BLACK PERMANENT MARKER outside where I had taken it out of the van. Who needs canvas people? Use yourself for body art. Then, here it comes, "Mom, I pooped!" Seriously, so now we have a child covered in black permanent marker with poop in his underwear. I've got to get off with my sister now, after some serious complaining of what I'm fixing to have to do.

Me: "Do not move. Go to the bathroom, and stay there. The wipes are out in the van." Yes, I left them there from our swimming field trip today and I was NOT about to go in Linley's room to get the others and wake her up.

I run outside to the van, grab the wipes, turn around, and now on the top steps of the porch is my partially naked 3 year old, marker and all, with pants off and poop stuck to his rear. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

Back to the bathroom we go. But wait, what is that I kicked...in the hall? Oh yes, piece of poop. (I'm sighing as I'm writing this piece). Start to clean the boy up and the next conversation is the kicker.

Caleb:"I want my prize!" In a very whiney voice.
Me: "Prize? For what?"
Caleb:"For pooping."
Huh? Did I miss something? I think we all know that the child can poop. It is the location of the poop that I am more concerned with at this point.
Me:"You don't get a prize for pooping. You get a prize for pooping IN THE POTTY!"
Caleb:"NOOOOOOO!!! I WANT MY PRIZE!!!!!!!!!" Hear whining.
Me: "No Caleb. You poop in the potty to get a prize, not in your UNDERWEAR!!!"

And so the whining continues as does the discussion of why we have prizes in the first place for bowel movements. Side note here: Yesterday John caught him pooping in his underwear so he got him on the potty and in a round about way he did poop on the potty. To which I jumped up and down and he yelled:"No HAPPY!" I seriously do not think he wants to part with his poop.

Get Caleb cleaned up, no prize, and Linley is awake, dinner needs to be finished, John is home, and the boys have found the Cars tattoos...

At this point I must make two notes:
1.  Caleb is the object of a lot of my blogs.  This age that he is at is always entertaining and busy, Ethan was just like this, yes, poop and all.  I am so thankful for him, and all our children because they keep my life interesting, fun, and never dull.
2.  I am so glad I borrowed my sister's Bissell shampoo vaccuum today. God knew I would put it to good use.