Okay, so I was known to occasionally pop a thick, sticky wad of bubble gum into my mouth after scraping it off the underside of the table at Burger King when I was a kid. Gum, candy, and fun cereal was always off the menu, so that's my excuse! I cringe to realize that my son (at 4-years-old) is getting ever closer to the booger-eating-gum-scraping-anti-bathing ages. Heaven help me! He is in the bathroom humor stage already (everything is "poop," and "pee," and just last weekend, "nose-drip").
Riding in the car last Sunday on the way to church, Grover was chatting away in the back seat about all of his favorite bodily fluids and functions, when my husband, James says:
"Okay, Grove, no more poop talk; Mommies wants to hear about nice things, like flowers and rainbows." (Boy, he's got me nailed down.)
"Hmmm... Okay Daddy!" And without missing a beat, Grover makes up a song on the spot (budding musician that he is)
"Flowers, and raiiiinbows, and (dramatic pause) poooooooop!" Perhaps laughing hard enough to make my vision blur sent the wrong message just then, because he continued to sing us all the way to church.
When we finally reached the church parking lot and prepared to enter God's house, we informed Grover that there would be absolutely, positively NO poopy-talk in church. He agreed, but I wondered how soon it would be before he shared his newly composed ditty with his Sunday school teacher, Miss Deborah.
I began to have hope though, as after church he informed me in the parking lot:"Mommy, I did not say poop in Sunday School!" My heart soared!
"That's terrific, Grove! Mommy is SO proud of..."
"But I eat-ed my buggers." He said, with the excitement of someone announcing that I had won the sweepstakes. Sigh.
Remember when they giggled, gurgled, and cooed, and smelled like baby powder?