Wait, let me back up.
It was almost time to go to the bus stop.
I helped Daniel put on his boots.
He ran out back while I trudged up the stairs to check on Taylor.
Sound asleep.
I made my way back down the stairs, to the front hall.
I picked up my boots and began to put them on.
The sliding glass door launched open and my distraught three year old came running in the house.
"Mom! Mom! MOM!" he shouted.
I looked up, "WHAT!" I shouted back.
"Mom! I stepped in dog poop! It's in the house!"
I looked down.
Sure enought, it was there.
A trail of footprints.
POOP-encrusted footprints.
Leading from the back deck,
Through the family room,
Into the hall.
So.
We were a late for the bus,
And I now have clean carpets.
And have taught a 4-hour seminar entitled,
Next time you step in dog poop, wait outside and I'll come to you.
What are little boys made of?
Snips and snails and puppy dog tails,
That's what little boys are made of.
-Mother Goose
