chris is why, actually.
chris is why the kids have crazy poops. and chris is why the kids are crazy- cause he's crazy.
my beautiful husband got home from work at about 8:30pm. which is the time i was expecting him. the kids stayed up a hair longer to see him. and boy were they happy to see their old man. hugs, kisses, chaos ensued. finally the kids were in bed.
chris ate the leftovers from dinner while catching his breath on the couch. my poor husband and his crazy schedule. i had some work i had to do, so i encouraged my husband to go on the run he had been talking about since yesterday. dang it, maybe some of this is my fault... anyhoo, he digests for about another 5 minutes or so, takes a work-related phone call, downloads Glee Volume 2 to his MP3 player (with the happiest look on his face. i just got this for my birthday and he could not be happier about the gift that he did not give me.) then he was out the door.
about 15 minutes later i get a text from him: "Yikes!! Poop attack."
i respond: "Don't poo in your pants! Lily will be mad at you. So will I."
he responds: "I might go in a field."
i respond: "Wow. Eww. I still love you. Don't get arrested."
(we aren't on twitter. cause we don't unerstand it. and no one would follow us cause all we would do is talk about poo. like i do on this blog...)
then silence. for about 30 minutes. no response from the running pooping fool. and as i work at the computer, beside the window, i can hear the rain starting to fall. gingerly at first. then it really starts coming down. and all i can think of is my poor husband with his pants around his ankles, listening to Glee, pooping in a field with a bunch of cows staring at him, rain pouring down, police lights flashing. A mix of terror and delight (just from the music. it really uplifts the guy) flood over him.
finally i stop working/thinking about chris and decide to just call him. "where are you? are you ok?" i ask. trying not to sound panicked, but also listening for any sirens in the background. chris is ok. he's actually still running. he's 15 minutes away from home. he found a gas station. how anti-climactic. and that's the end of this terrible story. but at least i don't have to clean another poopy butt.