Surprise Party!

Up until last night, Hubby loved surprise parties. He loves parties in general, truth be told, particularly birthday parties. And he loves birthday parties because he likes to receive presents. But any party involvong presents is just dandy by him. Surprise parties too. And most of the time, surprises are fun. Good surprises, that is. Like getting a $9.00 refund from the Toyota dealership because we overpaid on DMV fees. That was nice. Or the doctor telling us that we were gestating not one but TWO babies in my womb. Yes, some surprises are doozies, but usually fun.

So, I suppose it logically follows that our kids like surprises too. That must be the case because it was Pooki, not I, who threw the surprise party for Hubby last night. I don't remember whether or not I've mentioned this before, so please forgive me if I'm repeating myself. Pipsi is a very dramatic pooper. She will groan and grunt, turn red in the face and get all teary-eyed. I can hear it from the other room and very quickly smell it. Even when there isn't much in her diaper. Pooki, on the other hand, is another story.

Pooki is the stealthiest pooper I've ever known. She has the best pooping poker face ever. She sometimes doesn't give a single signal that she's done the deed other than a faint whiff of nasty when I pick her up. But even that's tricky, because I've noticed that the only thing that gives her away is her out-of-character nonchalance. Ordinarily, Pooki wants to be into everything. She's climbing on me, pulling on my clothes, chatting away, climbing the walls of the Playground, climbing over Pipsi, wanting to play with whatever Pipsi has in her hands, wanting to be picked up... you get what I mean. And then suddenly she'll start acting like Danny did to Sandy in front of his friends at school in Grease.

"Oh, no, that's cool, I'm good over here. I'll just play with this thing... what is this? Oh, here's Red Circus Box. I'll just chew on that, never mind me," Or, "Hey, no problem, just leave me here in my high chair! I'm comfortable, I have Stick Frog and Little Fuzzy Orange Goat. I'm happy, it's all good." The problem with this is that I'm so distracted by everything else I'm just grateful that she isn't screaming or crying or dropping something or barfing or sneezing or one of the myriad other activities in which she so thoughtfully engages in order to keep me constantly occupied. So sometimes she sits in it.

There I said it. I don't do it on purpose! The second I know she's poopy we're in there cleaning up. But sometimes I just don't know. Poor Pooki.

Anyhow, last night Pipsi made her usual to-do and Hubby took her into the nursery to clean her up. We were getting ready to take a little evening stroll, so I asked him to take Pooki and change her too so I could do some laundry (I don't know how I do it-- choose between two such fun activities I mean). Fortunately, I got to be in the room for the surprise.

"OH! UGH! Pooki pooped too!" Poor Hubby was caught completely unprepared. In the past several weeks, the Beans have become VERY active during diaper changes. Mommy uses the Diaper Changing Fairy toy to remedy this. She keeps the Beans occupied (read: docile and on their backs) but Hubby isn't familiar with this tactic so he had a squirming, writhing, twisting, turning Pooki on his hands-- along with about ten pounds of poop. By the time I got to the changing table it was on the changing pad (naked-- stripped of its pad from a previous poop catastrophe), all over Pooki including her hand which was wildly waving about, and Hubby.

It was a fun party. Wish you could have been there. Like all parties, even surprise parites, it came to an end. And the cleanup was a real bitch. But, Hubby did get a present-- just not one he was hoping for.