Another word for poop

Last night, PB couldn't get picked up from After School Care until 5:00 and Bug had to be back to school at 5:30 for play practice. It snowed, and I was going to be the person having to eat cold dinner after playing taxi cab...this is to say I was borderline grumpy. I had realized that I needed to call home and remind Bug to go ahead and start eating, when she informs that after school activities were cancelled. Deep breath.

PB, Monster and I traipsed into the house and PB immediately went into the powder room. Monster is running around crying about how he has to go, but he can't go upstairs because NO ONE IS UP THERE!. I'm trying to drop all the backpacks, my coat, purse, lunchbox, etc in the right places and Daddylang is yelling about someone closing the front door while he's trying to get dinner on the table.. Chaos is reigning. I head upstairs with Monster so he can go, and I can change clothes. 1 minute later, he's yelling that he can't flush the toilet. So I go in to see the problem. It's poop, and toilet paper, and very little fluid. It's poop and paper that has been sitting there for quite some time. I flush. The toilet slowly starts filling. I get the plunger going. Water is starting to slosh, and my not so good this week stomach is roiling. I holler that I need the other plunger and get "we can't hear you" (this toilet has a weird shaped "neck"...I hate it.) I finally get the correct plunger, and plunge some more. Now I'm mad...I have to clean the bathroom with bleach after this because of all the poop water. Yuck.

I go get rags and Clorox Clean up, fill the tub with water and bleach, put the plungers in there, and dump some Clorox Clean Up in the toilet. I close the door and label it closed until further notice. I loudly declare to every other family member that it is a haz mat zone and must be avoided. We sit down for dinner.

Apparently, while I was upstairs dealing with the poop, my husband was downstairs dealing with it as well...and also the toilet paper that was piled on the floor. After we say our grace (which includes a prayer for my children to learn to flush properly) we begin to eat. Hubby begins to inform the children that their slovenly ways are going to have to end. Conversation ensues, and they don't seem to be understanding why we would be upset about a little poop.

At this point, my will power gets up and goes to bed for the night...it's too tired to fight anymore.

I explain to my children the joy of plunging poop (however, I did not use the p word hear...I used the S word quite succinctly) that is not your own. Poop that has sat and festered all day long. Poop that splashes all over the toilet and floor and you. Poop that causes me to have to decontaminate my entire bathroom. I explain to my girl children that if you must poop right before you get in the shower, you should either flush or use a different bathroom. And I inform them all that once they stopped wearing diapers, I stopped cleaning up their poop. Much laughter ensues, once they realize that I'm not going to come across the table and smear them with poop.

And the monster during this whole discussion? He's pointing out that you should flush after you poop, poop, poop. And then he threw in a few more poops for good measure.