Mommy, wanna play chalk?

My sweet boy asked this question no less than 14 times this weekend.  So with weather perfection this afternoon, out we went.  All 5 of us.  We played chalk, we visited with neighbors, Elliott let the dog out 4 different times (no exaggeration), it was a good time.  If you are wondering how chalk is played, it really  just means drawing on the sidewalk--nothing all that exciting.  Unless you're three.

My future's so bright. . .

Baby feet.  Nothing better.

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She carried the chalk around, not actually using it but managing to get quite dirty.

Look at those curls!

Friday!

It is a sure change of life events when I look forward to Friday nights because my husband will stay up late with the baby and let me sleep in on Saturday morning.  I am having a glass of wine to make it seem more like I'm living it up.

My husband is pretty awesome.  Especially on Friday nights.  And Saturdays.  The rest of the week I stare at him in the wee hours of the night while he is peacefully sleeping with hate jealousy in my heart.

Sh*tty Saturdays

I mean this literally--not in an "oh-we-had-a-bad-weekend" kind of way.  I mean it in a way that suggests my 3-year old has shat in his pants the past two Saturdays and I've been awoken by a startled and panicked husband asking for help and a bedraggled, wet, stinky child in the shower.

Last week he chose to poo in his pants on the back patio.
This week?  He chose to crap his pants during a diligent nap protest.

Both times this led to legs smeared with poo, a bleached tub and child slightly proud to tell of his shit-ventures.

We had to nip this in the bud.  Last week, we talked.  This week?  We had to take action. All day, Ell had looked forward to seeing Glam and Pop, especially since this meant going to a restaurant.  Unfortunately, as we explained, we could not trust Ell to actually use the facilities and not sh*t his pants in public.  This meant Mommy & Brook-Brook got to visit OTB with Glammy & Poppy while Ell and Daddy stayed behind.  With the first explanation, the consequence was accepted.  The truth set in as we walked out the door and the composure melted.  I'm hoping this consequence sticks in his head, that missing out on Tickle Poppy (what Ell has taken to calling my dad) & Glammy AND eating at a restaurant is enough to remind him that pooping in his pants is not a good way to spend the weekend.  Time will tell.  Until then,  I'll do my best not to mention it. . .and let the consequence speak for itself.

What would you do to remedy the Sh*tty Saturday trend?