"I told you kids you were going to send your father to the crazy house!"

Ian removed his diaper tonight. He’s done that a lot recently, ever since he discovered that running around naked from the waist down is a great way to capture daddy’s attention no matter how filthy the dishes are.

Sometimes Ian has a valid reason for removing his diaper. When the weight of the liquid held in his diaper starts dragging his pants down, I consider that a valid reason for him to attract my attention. When his diaper is poopy, that’s a valid reason. When he’s bored because the television is off, I consider that reason less than valid.

Tonight was reason number two. Even though the dishes were piled high and dirty, I immediately scooped him away before I had to add the floors to my night’s cleaning chores.

Sadly, children love to imitate. When I set him on the changing table, Abbie realized she could call attention by removing her poopy diaper as well. I changed Ian with superhuman, possibly neglectful speed, and whisked Abbie onto the changing table before she could sit on something that was “dry clean only.”

Tory, who was also in the room, noticed his siblings being changed, and decided to check his diaper. While I struggled to dress Abbie, Tory thrust his hands into the back of his diaper. Sure enough, they were significantly dirtier coming out than they were going in.

I rushed Abbie onto the floor and Tory onto the changing table. As I wiped his hands clean, I caught my breath to appreciate this accomplishment. With quick action, I had averted three disasters, four if you count the heart attack I saved myself. I was about to diaper my third child, no one else had a poopy diaper they could remove or otherwise play with. I could afford to slow down, catch my breath, and make sure the nether regions really were clean this time.

“Schrip,” went the straps on Ian’s diaper. I might be overwhelmed, but Ian was apparently bored watching me work on his siblings.