My friend Wendy's kids can be a handful. Unfortunately, James, her youngest at almost 2, decided to be a handful at her recent birthday party.
It was a beautiful weekend, so the party was, quite naturally, outside. At some point, James followed their dog Henry to his preferred, er... defecation location. When Henry finished his business, James waded right in.
Wendy found him covered head-to-toe in dog poop.
She brought him inside dangling by an ankle and went through the arduous task of cleaning up an uncooperative 2-year-old. When she was done, she realized - unfortunately by the smell - that she had missed a spot. Said spot happened to be all up one side of her outfit; she then got to clean herself up.
The real horror comes next:
Turns out James was not unoccupied while she returned herself to a presentable state. Turns out James went into the garbage and pulled out the plastic bag that Wendy had used to scoop up what was left of Henry's business. Turns out James tore the bag open and proceeded to repeat the first act in every excruciating detail.
Happy Birthday, mama.
(Have I mentioned lately that I love my kids?)
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