Does this paint look like poo?

Ok, I'm finally posting again! I've been waiting for a story worth telling. Should have known it would be potty training related. What else.

So yesterday I went with Doug back to the doctor in Tupelo. When we got back home at noon, I decided to just miss the rest of the day and attack the job of painting my bedroom, which I was supposed to have done the day before when he started feeling weird. I had one wall primed prior to beginning yesterday. And when I threw in the towel, literally, last night, I had 3 walls painted...with actual color. The shortest wall remaining. Not too bad. Now, before I can continue this story, you must know this about me: I am a terrible painter. I have no patience. About 30 minutes into it I always remember how much I hate to paint. And I was painting in a small bedroom with all the furniture pushed to the middle. A very bad idea for someone who is possibly the world's biggest clutz. I mean, I have actually spilled a can of paint on carpet before. Luckily that was in our old house.

So imagine how much fun it was after I brought Elliott home at 4 pm and tried to paint not only with him at home, but him at home IN UNDERWEAR. Yelling every 15 minutes, "I NEED TO GO POTTY!" Now, don't get me wrong, I am DELIRIOUSLY HAPPY that Ms. Teresa is all gang-busters about getting him potty trained. And I was delighted that he peed twice and pooped once last night. HUGE progress. But really, the day I'm painting and Doug is in the blankety-blank woods? Imagine if you will me in that small room, surrounded by furniture, with only one drop cloth down, constantly sprinting out of the room to the bathroom. Oh, and my bedroom door was partially blocked by the corner shelf I removed. Good times.

Needless to day, Doug's name was mud by the time he got home. Or should I say poo.