I’m surrounded by boys. Three little boys. Three little boys with a fascination for grossness. Pee, poop, fart, butt; these words put into any sentence send them into hysterics, what is up with that? Is it just a boy thing or is it a little kid thing? I asked Deacon what his favorite part of the Chipmunk movie was, “when they shake their butts!” Laughter proceeds. Followed by Logan laughing and shaking his butt along side Deacon. Listening to them play Star Wars, “Hey Logan, look Han Solo is going to poop on Darth Vadar!” Ha, ha, ha. Even when we play Belly-Eating Monster (that’s me) they try getting away from me with “I farted on you!” I try correcting it, but sometimes you just have to laugh along with them. Heck, I was a kid once. Although I didn’t grab a squirt gun and call it a pee-shooting machine.
Then there are the nicknames they come up with:
Ally Big Butt Girl (that’s our dog)
Stinky Fart Dad
Avery Poop Machine
The conversation in the car on our way to Grammie’s house, “Hey Logan, we should start calling dad Smelly Stink Dad, what do you think?” “Mom, I love you more than all the bird poop on the car.” Currently, that’s a lot.
Before bed tonight. “Tell us the story when Avery peed on that guy’s leg and Machar’s car seat at Uncle Keith’s house.” “Tell us the story when Avery peed on your leg when Logan was in your belly.” “Mom, you’re an Avery toilet!” Ha, ha, ha.
Why does every conversation have to include these lovely words? Even when I give the stern “no more poop talk!” I just get an quick apology and then a few moments later “My chocolate ice cream looks like dragon poop…sorry mom.” They will grow out of this, right?