My daughter is frequently dramatic, imaginative and expressive. (I'm pretty sure she's a 7 with an 8 wing on the Enneagram, if that means anything to you, which it probably doesn't.) She frequently emits bloodcurdling screams and frantic cries for help when, in fact, she is pretending to be trapped in a dragon's lair that she's created out of couch cushions.
I used to run immediately, because, frankly, when your child emits bloodcurdling screams, you almost can't NOT run. However, after a few years of conditioning, I am becoming a little less urgent in my response.
The other day I was upstairs working through a mountain of laundry. (We are extremely fortunate to have our washer and dryer on the second floor where all the clothes need to go anyway, and not in the basement, where trekking up two flights of stairs with eight thousand loads of clothes every freaking day would create a serious backlog in the availability of clean clothes and would probably necessitate the enforcement of such rules as "You will wear that outfit all week, young lady!" and "The towels are not dirty till they stand up on their own!" But I digress.) The gate was at the top of the stairs and the bathroom doors were closed so that Kiefer couldn't (a) flush the toilet sixteen thousand times, (b) fall while crawling into the tub to retrieve a tub toy, or (c) drown in the toilet. Both kids were in Kiefer's room, I thought looking out his window. Everyone was safe. Or so I thought.
Addie begins to scream, "Mommy! Red alert, red alert! There's been a pooping incident! Emergency! Emergency!" Based on previous patterns, the fact that I did not hear a crash prior to the screaming and the fact that I was knee-deep in whites and colors, I asked (in kind of an exasperated fashion), "Is there any blood?!" To which, Addie replied with a little laugh, "No..." I said, "OK, then, just a second."
Seconds later my dear, sweet son comes around the corner with his cute, pudgy hand outstretched and said, "Here!" In his palm was a turd.
Apparently, while they were looking out the window, Kiefer thought what would be more interesting than watching birds, cars and the damn school bus parked out back, would be to get into the diaper pail and rifle through old diapers.
Anyway, no one was harmed, even though I had to sheepishly thank Addie for telling me right away about the incident. "I told you so!" she said.