Mummy sick came out of my bum

On Sunday evening I was rushing around at 6.50pm, trying to do a few last minute jobs before choir practice at 7pm (that's right, folks, choir practice. I am a member of a chamber choir - the Pro Scholar Musica). The lad sauntered into the living room minus his pyjama bottoms. "Mummy, sick came out of my bum".
Barely looking up I replied "darling, please don't say shit, I've told you that word is just for adults."
"No mummy, SICK came out of my bum". This got my attention and I followed him into the toilet. Peering into the bowl my shoulders sagged. Indeed, I understood why my son had described the pale brown lake as sick. More disheartening than the troubled state of my son's bowels though was what the beige custard was coating. The little twins are obsessed with all things toilet so we try to operate a strict 'closed door' policy for bathrooms. They had capitalized on a window of opportunity when a door had been left open by shoving as many toys as they could into the loo. There were pools and puddles of bum sick over everything. Fifteen minutes and half a bottle of disinfectant later and I was warbling in church. I hope I get into heaven.