I have three children and all of them, along with their father, are Shameless Shitters. I, on the other cheek, am a Shameful Shitter. They all delight in comparing, smelling, and grossing each other out with their daily deposits. If there is any kind of dispute over the properties and characteristics of said deposit, I am usually called in to pass judgment and/or referee.
One particular day, I was watching TV when I realized it was quiet -- too quiet. You know what I am talking about. At first the silence didn't really sink in -- I was enjoying not being interrupted every nanosecond and actually being able to sit down for a few minutes. And then I got worried. I looked at the clock and saw it had been at least fifteen minutes since I heard any noises that you could reasonably only expect to hear in an insane asylum. I heaved myself off the couch (I was pregnant with my youngest at the time) and waddled down the hall.
I knew it was going to be bad, but I had no idea how bad it could be. I was expecting something like crayon drawings on the walls, or a "surprise" haircut. Both had happened before and I was anticipating more of the same. I burst into the room and stopped dead in my tracks.
At first I didn't realize exactly what I was looking at. There in the middle of the room stood my daughter and son. Both had brown smears on their hands, arms, faces... Christ, I could even see it in their hair. As my eyes swept them up and down, I glanced at the walls. There were more brown smears and gobs here and there. My eyes dropped to the carpet -- the thick shag carpet -- where I saw the brown substance had been ground in.
For the first few seconds I was thinking chocolate pudding -- actually, I was praying it was pudding. But I couldn't fool myself. I wanted to so badly, but the smell told me what the "pudding" actually was.
As I stood there, trying to find my voice to express my... displeasure at such a scene, my daughter, smeared in what I now knew to be shit, said, "Mommy..."
I really don't know what she said next because my eyes were riveted on her teeth -- her teeth that, instead of being pearly white, were coated with shit. I could not believe she had eaten shit. Instead of taking her immediately to the bathroom to brush her teeth, I started to laugh and to try not to puke at the same time. The whole time, my shit-smeared son was standing there watching to see how this was going to play out with Mommy.
After I got myself and my gag reflex under control, I marched them in to the bathroom to be hosed off and sanitized. In the process of this, I asked them about what they had done. They told me that they both had had to poo, but neither of them had gone to the toilet. Instead they pooped on the floor and decided to play with it. Apparently it had been my son's idea to poo paint, and my daughter approved his plans and joined in with gusto. They co-operated in this venture for several minutes until my daughter got bored and started to paint her brother with their mutual poops. He repaid her in the same fashion.
I asked her how she got poo on her teeth, thinking that it probably happened while her brother was painting her. Well, it didn't. She had licked her fingers clean and then went back for more.
I stopped the conversation/interrogation at that point, and finished cleaning them up. After sending them into the living room to watch cartoons, I went into that shit-smeared room and started to scrub. I kept my mind occupied, dreaming of the day that I could use this story to embarrass the hell out of them. Though I've now shared this with all of you, they are still too young for me to use this effectively against them. I am waiting for my chance -- maybe when they start bringing home dates, or at a family reunion. Regardless, I will always remember the day they poo painted, and of course that my daughter ate shit.