What Am I Going to Do With That Boy?

**Caution: This entry is not for those with weak stomachs.**

We arrived home late last night from a wonderful trip to Missouri for Christmas. We were able to see so many of our friends and family. As we were making the drive there, I commented to Jesse that I thought one of the reasons I was so much more homesick this time was because I was homesick for the slower pace of SW MO. Anyway, as with any long trip, we've had lots of unpacking and organizing to get done today. I was taking a break from that so I could cook dinner, when I saw a sight that still has me grossed out. From the kitchen I saw the bare naked rear end of my youngest cherub.

"Ah!! Where's your diaper?!" I hollered, as I quickly made my way to him. He had taken it off and laid it on the couch. Grinning, he started running towards me. As he did, something fell out of his chubby little hand. Initially, I thought he had broken a piece off of my stuffed snowman that is sitting on the fireplace.

But, no.

As I reached down to pick it (and him) up, I realized that he was holding in his hand...yep, his own feces. I scoured his hands....and mine...a couple of times, before sending him to his daddy in the garage so I could compose myself. I tried to console myself with the fact that it was only a little piece; that it wasn't on the carpet or furniture; that it wasn't (gulp) in his mouth...but I'm afraid that it didn't help much. I am convinced that that child lays in his crib and thinks of new ways to get into trouble and torture his brothers.

At least life isn't dull...