Many of you have been politely encouraging me to start writing more about my kids again. I can’t disagree with you. They give me the best material. All I have to do is watch them and I start writing posts in my head. We’ll just say my writing isn’t as good when I veer off what comes to me naturally.

This last day or so I’ve been debating whether to write about the stories that have been presented to me lately. Some of my readers are so refined. (Those who aren’t are wonderful too, so don’t be offended by the word “some.”) I’ve waited a day to see if any more tasteful kiddy stories inspire me. I have nothing better, so I’m going to jump in with the poop stories.

This doesn’t happen very often, but Hannah pooped in the bathtub last night. I was downstairs loading the dishwasher when I heard the call. Dad, clearly disgusted, told me that I was to take over the kids while he cleaned and sterilized the tub. It was quite an event. I kept trying to keep the kids out of the bathroom, but they kept sneaking by me to run back in and create more chaos in there. Each time, I’d have to usher them out.

During this exciting event, Hannah told her first story. Looking toward the bathroom, she told me, “Eeeeeeeeoooooooh. Dinky wa-wa.” (Translation: Eeeeew. Stinky water; or Eeeeew. I pooped in the bathtub.) A few minutes later, she said, “Eeeeeeeeeeoooooooh. Dada wa-wa.” (Translation: Eeeeeeeeew. Daddy’s cleaning the stinky water.) Rachel and I were seriously entertained by these stories, breaking into peels of laughter everytime she told us something new. This morning she entertained us again by repeating the story. “Eeeeeeooooooh. Dada wa-wa.”

I don’t like Rachel to use the word disgusting a lot for fear of her using it at someone else’s dinner table, so she knows it’s a word she’s only allowed to say about things like poop. This morning she said, “It’s okay if I say that’s disgusting, right?” Yup, I said. She had mom’s approval. Poop in the bathtub qualifies as disgusting.

I wonder if everybody with a baby has their own diaper changing ritual. For example, my sister’s family had a whole song they used to sing to their youngest every time they changed his diaper, with sophisticated lyrics about a boy named Johnny who had a stinky poo-poo.

We’re not quite that sophisticated. With Rachel, I used to hold her high in the air and ask “Is there a stinky in the binky?” (Yes, it makes no sense, but it rhymes.) Then I’d sniff her diaper. (Yes, disgusting really.) If she had pooped, we’d say, “Eeeeeeeew! Stinky in the Binky.” She’d always get a laugh out of that. Quite ridiculous really. You had to be there, okay?

With Hannah, we did that at the beginning, too, and then got lazy. She still remembers, though. Every time I change her she says, “Eeeeeeeeeeeeew. Stinky!” We laugh, of course, and repeat it.

So, the other day I had to run into the bathroom for a quick pee. For safety sake, I had to bring Hannah with me. When I had finished up and was pulling up my shorts, she pointed to my I-wish-it-were-more-private region and said, with a big smile on her face, “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeew. Stinky!”

I so want to say, “Oh. The indignity!” However, I think I had it coming.

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I have two friends that have just started blogs. Please go over and welcome them and give lots of encouragement. I want to bring them in to our little blogging community.

Holly at Peace, Love, and Sanity

Brenda at Working with Kids and Animals