OMG, you guys.
I am so so so so so (so, infinity) tired of cleaning up stuff that's come out of other people's butts.
As you know - and if you don't know, you can start here - I've just attempted the "three-day potty training" method with Cameron. Long story short: it works ... sort of. Cameron isn't nearly potty trained, per se, but he's made a lot of good progress. I can definitely see the merits of the program - though, for us anyway, it's going to take more than three days. If you're interested, I wrote a detailed play-by-play of our experience.
Anyhoo, I've been so focused on Cameron's toilet habits that I didn't even stop to think how Colin would react to his little brother's potty training. Which is why the following scenario took me completely by surprise. He was playing quietly in his room (note to self: that is nearly always a precursor to some sort of huge mess). When I opened the door, I almost fell over - it reeked of poop in there.
"Colin!" I exclaimed, hooking my shirt over the end of my nose to shield my poor nostrils from the stench. "What is that smell?"
"I farted," he said, with a look that told me he was clearly lying.
I knew he was lying, anyway. I don't care if a brontosaurus farted - it wouldn't smell that strongly. The problem was, I didn't see any piles, smears, or otherwise.
"Is there ... poop in here?" I asked (oh pleasepleaseplease don't say yes).
He immediately started crying. "Don't spank me!"
I promised him I wouldn't spank him as long as he told me the truth - so he nodded an affirmative, that yes, there was indeed a pile of poo located somewhere within his bedroom.
Bracing myself, I asked the next logical question: "So ... where is it?"
"Don't spank me!" he pleaded again through his tears, more emphatically this time.
"I won't," I said. "Just tell me, right now, where you've pooped."
He pointed at this:
(No, there's not an extra baby living in Colin's room ... this is just the example picture I used from the Little Tikes website.) See the little dishwasher part with the green door there? ... Yeah. Full of poop (and pee!). And let me just say that, at four years old, it isn't baby poop any more - but a big, man-sized dump.
I ... didn't ... know ... what ... to ... say.
I finally asked him why. He told me, essentially, that he wanted a "special" place to go, like Cameron's little potty chair - to which I answered that the only reason Cam has a potty chair is because he isn't a big boy yet and physically can't use the toilet.
Then I threw his little kitchen set away - because I'm sorry, but I wasn't about to clean that mess up, y'all (it's a spare anyway; he got a nice new kitchen set for Christmas) - and made him go to bed a half-hour early.
... And even though I was mad at him, I couldn't help but laugh when he asked me - very seriously - for an air freshener. :)