Me: (Yelling from bathroom) Husband! Come here! You gotta see this!
Husband: Oh no. What?
Me: Is this? Is this? Is this poo? Is this a big smear of poo on my white shelving unit? The one that is HAND LEVEL to our son when he sits on the potty.
Husband: (Looking closer) Oh my God I think it is. Who's going to clean it?
Me: Oh that's staying there till morning when son can scrub it off man.
Husband: (Exhaling) Dude.
And right after watching the late rerun of America's Psychic Challenge - what do I do? Go check on the kids. AND SMELL THEIR HANDS! And you know you would totally do this too. Son not only had the incriminating crapwaft but (ok this might not be safe for mother's of daughters to read) he had it UNDER HIS FINGERNAILS.
I'm going to be wide awake at 6am waiting for him to come and sneak into bed with me. Cause a mother's love is infinite but there is no way I'm cuddling up with Reese's Feces until he takes bath. A scrubbing so thorough it would had made Joan Crawford weep with joy. Weep!