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My wife knows that she can trust me at home with our two-year-old boy for long periods of time without having to worry, and she knows that there is nothing I would rather do than spend time with him. She honestly thinks I'm the perfect dad. So when she went to a Saturday night out with the girls, she fully expected to come home to a peacefully sleeping angel, snuggled into bed.

Considering that, I can't really blame her for freaking out a bit when she instead walked in to find a buck-naked, wild-haired, bug-eyed maniac bouncing around the living room like a pinball on speed. Actually, he wasn't "naked," because his left arm, right shoulder and one side of his face was coated in a pretty thick layer of Vaseline, which, in my opinion, does provide some insulation.

But, as I told her as she stood slack-jawed and frozen mid-step, I can explain.

The night started off just fine. We had been in his play room for about an hour designing his Geotrax train tracks into an intricate and eye-pleasing layout. Once we had all of the pieces connected, I started the train and threw my arms up in victory when the engine and its two rear cars plunged down the track like a roller coaster. He showed his enthusiasm by pooping in his underwear. I was a bit insulted.

"Uh oh," he said, eyes full of shame.

"Buddy, it's not your fault," I assured him, picking him up (under the arms) and holding him face-to-face. "That's Daddy's fault. You tried, and I'm proud of you."

The little guy was just a few days over two and had pleaded with me to try "big boy shorts" instead of diapers. My better half is always noting that we need to start potty training, so I figured there was no better time than then - when he was interested. Somehow, I neglected the actual going to the potty part, but I figured we'd do this thing in phases. No worries.

I cleaned up the little guy and, with a little bit of a struggle, I put on a new diaper. With a little more struggle and a clever bribe, I talked him into happily putting on Mommy's favorite pajamas. While he ate a kiddie handful of M&Ms that I had used as bribery (after a really healthy meal earlier in the evening), I set out to dispose of the messy shorts.

Since we had about 12 pairs of the kiddie undies that would likely be unused for a while, I elected to throw out the soiled pair and start fresh rather than try to scoop them out and wash them without my wife noticing. I wrapped them in a plastic shopping bag, tied it off, and threw it into the trash - fully intending

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