Notes for my Children's Therapist: The Night of the Laxative Curry

Well, the day started out nicely. It was just the last 30 minutes or so that descended into complete and utter parenting bathroom chaos.

Once more, again, Katy and Anna we are SO SORRY!

WARNING: If poop and children is 'not your thing' just stop reading now. It gets BAD.

So our kids turned 4 a week or so ago - you would think that we could have moved on from this stuff already. But alas, they've got my genetics.

We had gone over to our friends' place for dinner and to hang out... pretty much all day...and had a great time watching movies, drinking in the sunshine at a pub with live music and eating the most delicious homemade curry that Katy and Anna had just 'thrown together'. It was heavenly - with a mix of chickpeas, cinnamon, garam masala, sweet potatoes and apparently Exlax.

We had finished dinner, enjoying the chat and rare freedom from the kids as they quietly played upstairs when my stomach gave an involuntary rumble. I was doing okay, but then the cold sweats started and I knew it would be best to make my way upstairs to deal with that.

I could also check on the kids while I was up there.

I started up the stairs and was welcomed by the sight of Lochie sat on the loo, bare legs dangling in the air, calling me in her sing-song voice;

"Mummy! I need your help! I've had an accident."

What do you mean you've had an accident? And why are your underwear bulging over there on the floor?

Sigh. Okay, Lochs had an accident. It happens. I closed and locked the door to help her to finish up and deal with the mess, having a talk with her about maybe next time heading to the loo a bit earlier and just bringing a book with her. Or an iPad.

I'll admit, once she was all cleaned up I used the opportunity to go myself - then came a desperate banging on the door. Kaitie needed to get in there too.

Awful parent that I am I told her that she needed to wait (she always does this to Paul), assuming that she just wanted to come join the party. The knocking persisted, getting a bit more frantic but I couldn't reach the door from where I...erm... was.

Lochie and I both finished the effects of Katy's laxative curry, I finally opened the door but Kaitie was nowhere to be seen. I peered around the corner, straining to hear a muffled "okay now you wipe my bum".

Wait, what?

And then the smell hit me like a wall of music festival outhouses, having permeated throughout the entirety of our friends' second floor. Kaitie came around the corner completely naked from the waist down and holding a poo covered wet-wipe, looking for a bin to put it in.

They... they don't have another bathroom upstairs.

"PAUUUULLLL!!!!" Helppppp!!!!

I was laughing far too hard to deal with this on my own.

He and Katy came up, their eyes tearing from the smell and realization of what had been happening upstairs. Kaitie turned around and was absolutely covered in smeared poo. There was no wet-wiping this away, so I picked her up and popped her into the bathtub, getting on my knees to shower her off, trying to see through my tears of laughter at the whole situation.

But it got so much worse.

I could hear Katy laughing now as the full scenario unfolded, Paul rushing into the bathroom holding two COMPLETELY FULL potties of poo. It had been nearly two years since dealing with this type of thing but he still handled it like a total pro. We could tell which one was Kaitie's - as one potty looked like it had been dominated by a grizzly bear that had eaten a porcupine whole and, well, of the two kids she had the bigger smile of relief on her face.

While Lochie and I were in the loo, Kaitie and our friend's daughter were dominating the twin potties - together. Like some sort of bonding thing, I guess.

Too bad the tandem wiping wasn't as effective as they thought it was.

So in the span of only 30 minutes or so we went from perfectly normal friends and house guests to having not only completely dominated their bathroom but also their children's bedroom and the more or less the entirety of their upstairs.

We are terrible, terrible people. But even worse than that?

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

And after tonight? Just further proof that our kids are doomed.