That's Not Chocolate!

For those of you who have been on the edge of your seats waiting for yet another situation involving my sons and their history of inappropriately pooping, the wait is over. Let me start by going backwards. Here are the lessons I learned from tonight:
1) NEVER assume it's chocolate.
2) NEVER pick it up with your bare hands.
3) NEVER assume who the source is.
4) NEVER take a 4 year old at his word.

Justin took Jonah to Tae Kwon Do tonight, and when one or more children are absent at dinnertime it's usually easier. USUALLY. During dinner, I saw on the floor what looked like a melted chocolate chip. It wasn't. Needless to say, I had to wash-no, scrub my hands. I smelled the twins up, down, and all around, checked up their pant legs and found no tracks or pieces or anything. I figured Justin had brought it in on one of his shoes. I asked James if he needed to poop, and he said No. He proceeded to go into the family room and I heard him playing with some of the baby toys. I continued to give the twins their milk when, after about 5 minutes, I noticed James with his hands down the back of his pants. I shuddered with dread as I called him over. I opened his pants, and, SURPRISE, underwear with some "not chocolate" in it. I had to put down the twins sippy cups, which sent them into a frenzy of screaming. I put James on the toilet and demanded that he push out what had only started to rear its ugly head. I went back to finish feeding Jack and Jed, and returned to wipe James. With a raised voice I reminded James that playing is not more important than pooping. I flushed the toilet. It clogged. I gagged. I gagged again, and ran out of the bathroom. I returned, pulled off James's clothes and streaked undies and put him in the shower to soak. Long. I set up a DVD for the twins to watch. Then I remembered that I had smelled poop in his room a few weeks ago... I screamed in anger and threw off the stuffed toys from his bed, smelling them one by one. I ripped off his sheets and pillow cases and threw them with his clothes into the wash. Wash - hot, rinse - hot. I wiped off all the baby toys in the family room, wiped off the chair James was sitting on, wiped the table, wiped the floor, wiped the doorknobs and the refrigerator door, and anything else James probably touched while he was under the radar. I returned to James the raisin in the shower and gave him a deep scrubbing, especially in the you-know-what area, and another lecture about how poop does not belong in underwear. As he put on his pajamas after his bath I made his bed and prohibited the tens of stuffed toys he usually sleeps with from joining him tonight. He got punished for lying to me about not having to poop, he got in bed, and he went to sleep alone.

That was about two hours ago and I'm still steaming, but cooling down. Why is it that I am the one learning lessons from all this? Shouldn't 4 be the max when it comes to the number of times a potty-trained boy chooses to tote around his excrement instead of going to the bathroom? And, dang it, why do I keep smelling my hands?