Gratuitous poop stories

After a political rant, what's the best way to get your readers back?
How about a couple stories about poop?
Poop, after all, is funny.
If you don't want to read a couple stories about poop, I don't blame you. Just pretend I've just told a story about how my Aces were cracked after limping in from UTG, shake your head and move on.


Still with me? Even my twins bloggers?
I thought so.


(Hey, twins bloggers and a few others, the one about the girls is below. Sorry for this first one).


Sunday is the day I usually do my long run. It's my church, essentially. Maybe there's a post there at some point. Anyway, my running partner and I like to run a route through a Greeley park and a lot of calm neighborhoods without a lot of traffic.
The danger, of course, is that leaves little chance to go the bathroom if the urge strikes.
I'm not sure if many people can relate to this, especially those who don't exercise for long stretches outside, but this is a big issue for mountain climbers and runners because our access to the potties are limited.
Poop preparation is a big deal for climbers and runners. It's as important before a big race as a good meal, getting hydrated and sleep. We all whisper about it, exiting the port-a-potties with a smile and one word, "success," before we take our spot in the crowd. You must poop before a run, and I tell my climbing clients to go before we hit the trail. That suggestion always gets strange looks.
An unpooped poop can ruin a race, especially if you're running a 5K.
Only the last few weeks, I haven't been able to go before my long runs. Pooping, unfortunately for me, doesn't seem to come unless I've been up a while. It used to be so easy in the morning, but lately I haven't had the urge until right before lunch.
Anyway, running, as you might guess, gets things going down there, so if you can't go before you go run, you just have to hope that you can either happen upon a potty when it does come, or that you can make it home without literally crapping your pants.
I was on my ninth mile of my 12-mile run today when the urge struck. Dammit. We were running up some neighborhood streets and pretty far away from any comfortable potty. I'm not going to knock on someone's door and ask them if I can take a shit in their house ("hey, aren't you the guy who's face is on all those newspaper stands?"). So I was stuck, and as I reached mile 10, it got progressively worse, to the point where I had to stop running and clinch my cheeks together.
There is nothing, my friends, more uncomfortable than having to go and being a good distance from a potty. I was two miles from home, so I needed to run, and yet when I ran, it got things going again.
A half-mile later, I was walking and holding it in with all my might. I was totally screwed. I was worried that if I farted it would all come out.
As I was running down a long, winding hill in the middle of an exclusive neighborhood, I spotted, out of nowhere, a port-a-potty.
I couldn't believe it. It was sheer, blind luck. I started to run to it, and as I did, debating whether I should put all my faith into a potty that could easily be locked, out squirted a smidge.
Well, it was now or never. Either this door is open or I'm a toddler again.
I ran, pell mell, to the potty, praying it was open (see, I told you I was in church), only I couldn't run normally. It was more of a fast penguin shuffle. If anyone saw me, I'm pretty sure they knew what was wrong. At that point, I didn't give a crap, either.
I came to the green plastic heaven and saw that the door was not locked.
Oh. Thank. God.
There's also nothing, my friends, more relieving than going when you've needed to go for a while. It's the only time when you can be completely uncomfortable and then totally relieved a minute later.
Ohhhh, yes.
My underwear was in OK shape. It wasn't great, but I would manage to get home. I just hoped I didn't run into someone I knew and started the long, painful trek home. It was a hard last two miles. But I felt better than I did two miles ago.
• • •

I was eating lunch Saturday when I noticed Andie was playing with something small and brown and putting her fingers in it and then in her mouth.
Kate decided to go to Target, so I was watching Andie and Allie in the kitchen while I ate. They played with fridge magnets. Large ones. Farm Fridge.
Allie hadn't pooped in a couple days, so we fed her prunes and Karo Syrup and waited for the bomb to drop. Jayden's worst diaper ever was on a road trip, when he hadn't pooped in four days. It took us 45 minutes to clean up his carrier at a rest stop in the middle of Kansas.
So I knew it was gonna be bad when Allie let it all go, and so right away I knew what Andie was playing with, and after choking down a barf, I glanced at Allie.
Oh, shit.
Literally.
The poop was coming out of her diaper and was all up her back, like a skunk stripe.
I've had a few moments as a parent when I just froze, as if my brain couldn't really comprehend what was happening and needed a reboot, like a computer.
Then I sprang into action. I ran upstairs, grabbed a diaper and many wipes and ran back downstairs. Then I grabbed Andie and washed her hands and her mouth while forcing down another barf.
Then I put her back on the floor.
Now the problem was Andie, that very same day, discovered crawling. I already posted her 'Army' crawl, but Saturday she really got the hang of it and could cover a few feet in less than a minute.
Unfortunately that meant Andie kept crawling over to the poo and trying to get it while I took the clothes off the shrieking Allie and starting to clean up the damage.
I moved Andie back four times and finally had to pick her up and take to the family room. She was pissed and started hollering at me.
Kate, please get home now.
I grabbed the 25th wipe (to put that in perspective, I can usually clean a poop with four) and went back to work. I thought about throwing her in the tub, but I'm not sure what I would do with Andie.
I finally got her cleaned up and dressed, and Allie was freaking by this point, with real tears spilling out of her eyes.
I picked her up, whispered in her ear and danced with her around the kitchen, side stepping the poop on the floor with the grace of Sinatra, or Dee Snider in Twisted Sister. I then sat her back down next to Andie, who needed a little Daddy time as well but was fine after a spin around the room.
I then went back to eat my lunch and grabbed my laptop and quickly dove into a Poker Stars game of Razz.
Kate got home three minutes later.
"Well, how did it go?" she asked.
I looked at her, said nothing, then went back to my game.