Beware that which is not where you'd expect

It is a holiday weekend, which, aside from you probably having much better things to do than read a blog, means I had a little more time on my hands and fun plans with the family.  It was the perfect weather for my favorite outfit, the one my family knows I refer to as "the one that makes me feel Parisian".  Black, white, some stripes, a splash of red, and designer jeans, oh super cute shoes and some killer accessories.  I was feeling pretty fabulous, hair and make up just right.  Ready to put on my "Hollywood" sunglasses and do some shopping, get the boys hair cut, and go out into the sun at a lovely park.  I was putting the finishing touches on, when my youngest calls to me from what was supposed to be his nap....

*** Warning... there is a huge gross out element in the rest of this post.  I hate to even post the warning, cause it takes out the surprise element which is really the star of this show, and, also, I was deprived of that courtesy myself in real time. Do not read on if you think you don't want to know anymore.***

2 year old Momma!  I peed! (he is potty trained... but only when awake, so I figured he needs his pull up changed since I thought he was napping)

I start climbing the stairs to go change him...

Me Ummm, you peed?

2 Yeah!

Me Where? Your pull up? *suddenly spot clean and dry pull up in the hall, thrown from his gated room, and start rushing* Where?!

2 On the green thing!

Me *spying naked toddler, and brown foot prints, notice cracked closet door with light coming from inside* What green thing?! The tote in your closet? Did you POOP? *rush back to my room, use intercom to call down to husband in his office* Honey, there something in your son's room that needs immediate attention from the both of us, bring paper towels and a bath towel.

Husband Be right there. *Hangs up phone, and I hear him running up the stairs, 2 flights below us, from his basement level office*

2 I did it, Momma!

Me I see. *Climbing over the gate, avoiding all poop footprints, and head to the closet* No. No. Noooooooooo.  You pooped IN the closet?! 

2 On the green thing!

Husband What happened?

Me Your kid dropped a deuce on the changing pad I had tucked away in the closet, but then he must of scoot down the pad and onto the floor, then tracked it all the way to the door with his little feet. Please start running the bath. *turning to son* Why didn't you leave your pull up on and call for help instead of pooping in the closet? *trying very hard not to be too loud and upset him, as he thinks he did good since it was "on" the changing pad, and he didn't technically poop his pants.* If your are awake it really needs to go in the potty! *remove my cute blazer and toss it into the non-disgusting, feces-free hallway*

Husband *calling from the bathroom* I have to say I will NOT miss this part of their childhood! 

Me I was so worried the other day, when we switched him to a big boy bed, because I remembered when we switched his brother to a big boy bed he pulled out all his toys, and emptied out all his drawers during his naps.  This kid literally EMPTIED OUT HIS DRAWERS onto the closet floor.  Well, not even.  He first removed his "drawers".  They are spotless.

Husband *coming back into the room to help while I'm wiping down our toddler to put him in the tub* Oh, hey, you look nice.

Me Yeah, so thrilled I got all dressed up to scrub doody out of the carpet in my designer jeans.  The "Lucky you" tag sewn into them is mocking me at this very moment. I was feeling all "This is the good life.", and then life was all "Hey, shit happens!  Now, take off your blazer and your cute shoes, get on your expensive knees, and scrub it up.  You're welcome!" 

And that's how it is.  My kiddo apologized to me, I hugged him, my husband and I laughed and cried at the same time.  Just when you start getting all smug when things are going too great, life (sometimes literally) throws some shit at you to remember that no one gets to live in perfection.  So, enjoy those special moments, but be prepared when the shit hits the fan, or the closet floor.  Because you are no different than anyone else, my friend.