I was a big Nancy Drew fan when I was a kid. I spent hour after hour envying her titian-hair, her sporty convertible, and, of course, all the interesting mysteries that took place right in her little home town. My little home town was nowhere near as interesting as Nancy’s. The greatest mystery I encountered as a Nancy Drew reader was trying to crack the code on getting my dad to buy me a Big Wheel (a task at which I was not successful).

Little did I know that as a mother, my life would be filled with more mystery, intrigue and mind-bending conundrums (conundra? conundrii? Discuss below.) than even Nancy could handle.

There are the little brainteasers that crop up most every day:

• Who spilled the milk?
• Who colored on the wall with permanent marker that will never come off no matter how much money I spend on Mr. Clean Magic Erasers and did I mention that we’re living in a rental house while we’re renovating our house and now we’ll never get our security deposit back?
• Where are your sneakers? Shoes? Backpacks? Lunchboxes?
• Who ate the last piece of Godiva chocolate that was hidden in an empty Uncle Ben’s box of rice on the top shelf of the pantry behind the corn starch and underneath three cans of evaporated milk that may or may not have been in my grandmother’s kitchen 25 years ago?

Then there are the more complex head-scratchers that need to be addressed with a certain sense of urgency in order to prevent unplanned trips to the emergency room, such as:

• Why is he crying?
• Why is she bleeding?
• Who hit you?
• Who hit me??
• Who moved my wine glass???

But the greatest riddle of all unfortunately centers in the bathroom. Alas, I’m not talking about the simple “who threw the wet towel on the floor?” and “why is there an entire tube of toothpaste in the sink?” inquiries. No, no. I almost welcome those little gems when faced with the biggest mystery of my day.

The question that both my husband and I are forced to ask, every single day of our lives, and sometimes more than once is this . . .

Who pooped and . . . dun, dun, dun . . . didn’t wipe?

(My apologies to the squeamish among you, although if you’re reading this blog, or a “mommy” blog in general, you have to figure that eventually you’re going to see the word “poop,” right?)

I have probably spent a cumulative year of my life potty-training these three kids. I have doled out M&M’s like little gold coins, done the potty dance until my hamstrings screamed in protest, made grandiose promises of big kid beds and fancy-schmancy Lightning McQueen and Hello Kitty underwear, cajoled, threatened and begged to get these kids to pee and poop on the potty. I have experienced some pretty big accomplishments in my life (passing two bar exams, learning to ride a two-wheeler, mastering a stick shift), but nothing compared to the joy I felt the first time I went to Target and realized I never had to walk through the diaper/Pull-Up aisle again.

It appears, however, that my potty-trainer accomplishments did not accomplish all that I wanted them to. I refer, specifically, to the wiping and flushing aspects of toileting.

Nothing turns even the most battle-hardened mother’s stomach quite like seeing an unflushed toilet with solid waste and no toilet paper. I’m not a stickler for flushing when the kids go #1. With five people living in this house, if they flushed every time they peed, our water bill would probably be hundreds of dollars a month. I can explain away their flushing inadequacies by believing that my children are just trying to be “green.”

I just can’t ignore an unflushed toilet after #2. And the lack of toilet paper in such a toilet may just be the thing that sends this mama straight to that nice, padded room wearing one of those stylish white jackets with all the straps and buckles.

My children claim to have the answer to the question of who pooped and didn’t wipe. The most common offenders are that little brat Not Me and his obnoxious sister I Don’t Know. Occasionally, their cousins, Beats Me and silent shrug, apparently come over just to soil our bathroom as well.

But I’m the mom. I know everything. Nothing gets by me. I solve every mystery and know the answer to every question before it is asked. I may not know in the moment who pooped and didn’t wipe. But I will find out. I always find out.

Today, all will be revealed. The mystery will be solved and questions will have answers. For today?

Today is laundry day.