Our poop rug. I mean prayer rug.

I sat in my office this morning, wondering how Superman was faring at home.  When I had left the house, he was still sleeping, but I knew he hadn’t slept well last night.  So, I shot him a quick email while I was thinking about it.

Me:  “How are you feeling?”

I wasn’t prepared for his response.  Coffee ended up in my nostrils because I choked while I read his words.  I would print them here [in fact I had them typed up and ready to go], but I decided to spare the offending child the embarrassment in having this incident go down in internet infamy.  Suffice it to say that my dear husband, destined to become the patron saint of pooper scoopers, awoke to the Cautious Older Kid announcement that one of our Tiny People had pooped on the living room rug.

Prior to reading Superman’s desperate email, I thought my morning of trying to tame the overflowing email inbox was bad.  No really, it was overflowing so badly I was in ‘Mail Jail’ and couldn’t send or receive emails until I deleted some.  Still, can’t compete with having to deal with the poop on the rug.  He won today, and it wasn’t even 9am.

Continue reading