PTSD

My post title does not refer to Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. I'm using it instead as my acronym for "Post-Triplet Super-Disaster".

At first, I didn't want to tell anyone (other than my mom) about this particular disaster because it was too horrifying to me. I wanted to forget about it and didn't want people to think I was a terrible mother. Now that the trauma of the memory has faded a bit, I've decided that I should record the event for posterity. So here goes...

I had to do something upstairs for a few minutes. (Yes, you can see it coming now, eh?) So I left the children sitting on the couch happily watching Sesame Street. As I listened from upstairs, it started to sound awfully quiet--too quiet even for watching TV--or maybe it was just a feeling. Anyhoo, I rushed downstairs to find Everett happily watching Sesame Street, and all three girls in the bathroom. One had the toilet brush, and the other two had taken combs out of one of the drawers. With those implements they were happily dipping and stirring in the toilet. And the toilet had something in it--something loose and nasty. I think the girls may have been sampling from the combs, but tried to tell myself they weren't. The floor was covered in filthy water. The girls were covered in it. Apparently, Everett had gone #2 in the potty, and for the first time ever, had neither flushed nor closed the door.

After a few milliseconds of trying to deny that any of this was really happening, I quickly removed all of the girls' clothing and whisked them up to the bathtub. Once Cary found out what was going on, he pulled out the bleach and cleaned the bathroom, enlisting Everett for the effort as well. I was truly grateful. I was feeling really yucky that day. As it turned out, I had a stomach bug and was throwing up an hour later.
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While I'm on the subject, here's another one from last summer that wasn't quite so bad, but still required baths:

The children and I were playing on the porch. I sent Everett inside as a consequence for some form of disobedience which I can't remember at this point. He went straight through the house, out the back door, and back around to the front porch. (I had made a gate, so he was standing on the steps in front of the porch.) I told him to march himself back inside, and right then he peed his pants. We were working on potty training and were doing pretty well but not 100% there yet. I told him to wait there while I went to get something to clean it up with. While I was inside for all of 30 seconds he discovered the planter which I had placed on the steps so that it would be out of reach of the children while we played on the porch. It was filled with potting soil. He decided that it would be a really fun game to throw the dirt on his sisters like it was raining. They loved it. So I came out to a wet boy and three dirty girls. By now I decided I needed to call for backup, so I told Everett to stop, and went in to get Cary. Everett did not stop. Cary took care of Everett while I vacuumed the porch and the girls. Everett went to bed really early that night.

Too bad I don't have photographic evidence for this one.