Been a couple days since my last post. A couple fun-filled days, including Christmas itself. I'll have a comprehensive Christmas summary at some later date (probably after next Christmas), since these kinds of things tend to be a bit dull. Already, my life is too dull for AdSense context sensitive advertising, which is running hurricane relief public service announcements instead of cash-paying ads again.
Overall, Christmas went very smoothly. The childrens were both surprised that they did not get any charcoal in their stocking, unlike last year. This is mainly because I have a gas gill at the new house, and I gave away my old charcoal grill along with all the charcoal before I moved. So I didn't have any available.
HannahC got so excited that she kept thinking she was going to throw up. She would stuff her face full of Christmas goodies (cookies, candy, chips, etc.), and then run around like a crazy idiot for a while, then run to the bathroom and sit in front of the porcelain alter saying some prayers. I was pretty sure I was going to get a good barf-blogging story out of it, but alas, she held in her cookies.
When evening rolled around, I put MaxieC into the big tub so he could try out his Mater motor-oil can bubble soap and his foaming spray bath soap. Things were going along swimmingly when suddenly he yells, "I need to go poop!" I run him to the toiley, and he makes poop in there. Everyone is happy. Except I remember last time. I'm not going to leave a log in there to be found in the morning this time. I search all over the tub, pushing the toys and bubbles aside - no log. I examine and cross-examine MaxieC about whether he left a present in the tub. No log.
So I return him to the tub.
A little while later, he stands up. He's looking down into the water forlornly. What's up, MaxieC?
There, just behind his feet, is a magnificent log. It's as big as his arm. Or, at least, it seems to be. I holler for The Mrs. I can't deal with this on my own. The poop. The boy with poop on his bottom. The toys. Too much for me.
The Mrs. comes up and immediately blames me for MaxieC pooping. She told me he wouldn't have pooped if I had been watching him.
Like he's never pooped in the tub when she's giving him his bath. She has a very selective memory, that one. I hear all wives are like that, but this is the only one I have, so I can't say for sure.
Anyways, my job was to fish out the bath toys and wash them. Seems simple, right?
Answer will be posted in a couple days. In case you don't know who Mr. Hanky is, he's the Christmas Poo.