Tuesday, September 23, 2008
The boy needs a pet
*Warning: This post is not for the squeamish. It's pretty gross. And tacky.*
I think I'm a pretty laid back, cool mama. I don't get all huffy over silly things. I'm pretty sure that I am more than generous in my toleration of bodily functions and I also don't become embarrassed too easily. Just yesterday I taught my children the alternative lyrics to "Big Red Car". You know, "Toot toot chugga chugga big red fart"? And I'm not ashamed to admit to you the irony behind my call to poison control yesterday morning due to the Donut having eaten an entire bottle of these on the very same day I needed them (isn't 15 weeks a bit early for this common yet annoying pregnancy problem?).
But what I just witnessed has actually induced nausea in me. My son coerced me into letting him invade mine and the Donut's all-girl shower. Fine, whatever, I didn't feel like fighting. However, I may not ever let him shower with me ever ever again. The kids are allowed to have a plastic cup a piece inside of the shower with which to play. Apparently, the boy has been saving a... ahem... booger inside of one of these cups. He's adopted it. He called it a goldfish. It felt like an episode of "Ren and Stimpy". I asked him to please wash the... ahem... booger down the drain and explained that it's gross to play with things like that. He freaked out. He said his fish would die. So his sister stole the cup and dumped it out. He proceeds to start blowing his nose into the cup in order to get another booger, er, goldfish.
I think it's time to just go ahead and get the kid a pet goldfish. I don't think my stomach can take any more substitutes.