Pee All Over the House

I thought that when we banished our dogs to the backyard that we'd be done cleaning up these sorts accidents around the house, with exception of sick kids. Ooooh noooo. And it wasn't the 2.5-year old little monster that caused this one. Nope, it was the 4-year old who knows better. He may as well have whipped it out and ran all over the house, peeing down the hall and up the stairs, when this was all over with.

The older boys have had a belt fetish lately (not across their rears, though we've contemplated that a few times). It all began when I started buying jeans that were slightly too big, so they'd grow into them and thus wear them a little longer. And belts became standard issue to keep them from falling down. So, in usual fashion, our little Tyler waited until the last possible second to dash into the bathroom to go pee. In his zeal, he couldn't get his belt undone fast enough and ended up letting loose all over himself in the bathroom. No big deal--it happens. However, when he yelled for Mommy & Daddy to come rescue him, Mommy & Daddy didn't hear him. Why, you ask? Because Rock God Bryan had a 1-man concert raging in his man-cave, and it was so friggin' loud that the Russian cosmonauts could hear him. I was doing woman-work upstairs (laundry--Bryan is forbidden from touching it--another story), so next thing I know a sopping wet little Tyler is sulking at the top of the stairs. Fully clothed and sopping, soaking wet with pee. Socks and all. The magnitude of what this meant didn't sink in until after I had cleaned him up and started my way back downstairs. Squish--I stepped on a wet spot on our carpeted stairs. Next step, same thing. A little trail of wet steps on my new carpet all the way to the downstairs bathroom. I started screeching several choice words, none that the kids should have heard, and finally the Rock God emerged from his noisy cocoon to see what the commotion was. Needless to say, I was so beside myself with rage at this point that I was speaking in tongues, leaving Bryan in charge of cleanup. He pulled out our trusty mega-carpet-scrubber-vacuum-cleaner thing (which has saved our carpet from doggie accidents on several occasions), and proceeded to scrub and clean the carpet. The story does not quite end here--after deciding to go ahead and clean all the high-traffic areas while he's at it (and thus avoid his anger-crazed wife), Bryan realizes the suction is not working on our whamidyne machine, and we are left with soaking wet carpets everywhere. But I guess that's better than pee-soaked carpet, so I'm not complaining. And I have calmed down a bit...until next time.