If anyone out there has been wondering where all the poo stories have gone on this blog, you can sit up and cease your wondering.
Jack has spent the first ten days of summer dropping cow patties all over the kitchen, bathtub, bedroom floor, and backyard.
Not to be the grossest blogger who ever lived, but seriously, my house is dotted with giant wet cow pies.
While cleaning up the Code Brown in the kitchen last week, I inadvertently stepped in a secondary patty.
A mom tantrum ensued. I kicked off my right flip flop and cussed. My sailor-speak was the better alternative to karate chopping the offending child.
Henry, the twelve-year-old who gives me a lecture every time I utter a swear, let my cluster cuss slide. He just knew.
That was just one of several super nasty episodes.
I adjusted Jack’s meds, as I’ve been instructed to do in such cases. Finally I called the nurse line at the pediatric gastroenterologist’s office. By the time they called me back, Dutch and I had made an interesting discovery:
Jack has been covertly inhaling the lemon Fiber One bars in the food storage room. Sometimes, we think, up to six a day. Jack essentially gave himself a lemony enema.
Sometimes I am the dumbest parent in the Northern Hemisphere. Just really, really too strung out on the raising of the boys to realize from whence the problems originate.
It’s the fiber cookies, yo.