The Case Of The Missing Poop

Jonathan had to be at work early this morning and was out the door at 7:30. Jaron had just finished eating his breakfast and I was rushing around trying to get ready before the little baby I watch arrived. I was in the midst of craziness (in my drama queen mind) at the exact moment that Jaron appeared at my bedroom door. With poop smeared all over his hands.

And poop down his legs.

And poop on his feet.

And poop between his toes.

And, oh yeah, poop all over the floor too.

Here's the thing... there wasn't much poop in his diaper. And the poop that was clinging to his leg wasn't enough to paint the rest of his body, and my carpets, in as many coats of brown as there appeared to be. That meant that somewhere in my house was a pile of poop.

Fabulous. Just fabulous.

After getting Jaron and his cute little tush cleaned off, I searched my house high and low, looking for the missing poop. Y'all, it was no where to be found. No. Where.

That leaves only one logical conclusion.

Yep, the dog ate the poop.

I must go throw up now. And brush my teeth obsessively. And light all the candles in the house to rid it of the nasty smell, and memory, of stinky little boy poop.

Have a poopy, um I mean, a happy Friday, y'all.

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Casey
I am a lover of: God... my sexy husband... 3 of the cutest kiddos in the world... deep friendships... a good book... music that moves me... the beach... sunshine... cooking... and laughter.
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