Poop, again.

Warning (Dad), there's poop ahead.

To set the scene:
Pat was working late, really late
I had picked up the girls, had to get gas, and decided to pick up dinner from my favorite BBQ spot
We got home.  Fiona was hungry.  Finley had to pee.  So, Finley got herself on the potty, washed her hands, but didn't put her skirt and undies back on (I wasn't so much paying attention at this point as I was making Fifi's bottle and she was going nuts knowing that I was making the bottle)
I had cut up Fin's chicken on a plate at the island and told her she could eat. 
Ten minutes later I hear "Mom, you forgot to put my undies back on."
I'm still feeding Fifi and not thinking anything of this random comment. 
Fifi finishes her bottle and I go to put it in the sink, at which point I smell and see this: (except imagine a little girl kneeling on this stool...)

I calmly flipped out (yes, that is possible) and whipped her up to the bath while poor Fiona fell asleep on a blanket in the porch.  Turns out, the toilet is "scary" but pooping on a barstool is not. 

Channeling super-mom, I bathed Fiona first at super fast speed, put her to bed, and bathed Fin while I enjoyed my dinner from atop the toilet seat. 

Both girls were in bed by 7:15.  

This is what I call making lemons into lemonade...or rather poop into fermented apple cider.  Cheers!