Things Kids Say Thursday: My Poop

Sam and I don’t really celebrate Valentine’s Day anymore, but I do make a point to get a little candy and maybe a small toy for the kids. On Monday, Baby Girl and I were shopping and I decided to get the treats. She helped with the candy selection (and repeatedly asked for me to pay for it so she could eat it), and then helped pick out two small stuffed…things  — a donut for herself and an emoji poop for Little Man. 

Why is this a thing? Why?!

Let me tell you, Baby Girl was fascinated with that stuffed poop. After she asked to go see the “fishies,” she held it up and said loudly, “Hey, fish, look at my poop!” I about died laughing.

She got quite a few looks, especially since every person met she would say “I’ve got a poop!” or “Wanna see my poop?!” Plus there was “Hey there, silly poop!” (For some reason, everything is “silly” lately.”

Just so you know, there was fighting over that damn stuffed poop. Lots of it. Little Man didn’t particularly care to play with it, but he also didn’t want BG to touch it at all, because apparently that’s what siblings do. I ended up getting a second poop yesterday on clearance. 

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The Squatty Potty

[This whole post may be a little TMI — or straight up weird — for some of y’all, so between this warning and the title, read at your own discretion.]

My friends and I give each other hell quite often. Sometimes it’s over things that happened ages ago — like my slurring and saying that I was sharp as a dick instead of sharp as a tack — and sometimes it’s over more embarrassing stuff that I should absolutely write about here sometimes.

One thing in particular that we like to harp on is a habit my husband has. Since my husband doesn’t read this blog unless I send him a direct link to a post, I have no problem talking about his little habit here.

One night at my friend’s house a couple of years ago, she left her bathroom and asked, “Y’all, why are there footprints on my toilet seat?”

This was just an adults only cookout, so drinks were involved, and when drinks are involved with these people, you never know what’s going to happen, but usually whatever comes up isn’t quite that odd.

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We all looked around at each other, wondering who stood on my friend’s toilet — and for what reason.

“Well, I knocked off your shower rod and curtain,” my brother offered. “But I didn’t have to stand on your toilet to fix it.

Then it dawned on me.

“It’s him!” I said loudly, pointing at Sam. (A: Yeah, that probably lost me wife points. B: I can be trusted any with serious secret you tell me, but if you tell me something that’s hilarious, there’s a chance it might come out over drinks.)

My friend laughed, thinking I was giving Sam a hard time, until she noticed the dirty look he was giving me. She knew then that he was indeed the culprit of the footprints on her toilet seat.

“Sam, why are you standing on my toilet seat?!” she asked, looking at him incredulously.

He wouldn’t say anything at first, so I did.

“He thinks it helps him poop better.”

This elicited a round of “Whats” and guffaws from the rest of the group.

Finally Sam spoke. “I don’t stand on the toilet, okay? I squat on the toilet. You get a lot more out that way.”

Naturally, we all told him that he was full of it.

My friend told her that she didn’t care what he does on his toilet, but not to be putting his dirty feet on her toilet to try to get more out. Between the butt plug she found in her toilet tank a few years ago, she’s already had enough weird shit going on in that bathroom.

“So, Sam, you’re perched up there like a gargoyle, pretty much?” another friend asked, teasing.

Sam took it all in good stride, while reminding us every so often that he’s the only one in our little group who has good BMs. (And this is probably why all of our adult interactions that don’t involve kid stuff are limited to this one small group that wouldn’t run for the hills over some of the stuff we talk about.)

Like I said, that was at least two years ago. In the last few weeks, I’ve discovered that Sam wasn’t exactly wrong. Weird, yes, but not wrong. Not only did I read an article that talks about the benefits of squatting to poop, there is also a nifty little potty companion that helps you achieve super BM benefits without going gargoyle style on your toilet.

I’ve never seen such a look of smugness as when I showed that link to Sam. We discussed this at the party on Saturday, and while Sam was in “how do you like me now?” mode, that still didn’t stop us from still giving him hell for perching on the throne. What are friends for, amirite?

Also, we’ve decided to all chip in and buy the squatty potty for Sam for Christmas. We’re lovely people, in case you haven’t figured that out. Don’tcha wanna hang out with us?

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For what it’s worth, I suspect that a $3 footstool from WalMart would achieve the same effect, but when it’s Christmas, you do things up right.

So, weird blog topic, but now you’ve possibly learned something that you probably didn’t expect to learn on this blog and have an idea for your Christmas shopping. Would #winning be inappropriate?

What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever caught someone doing in your house?

Don’t Lick That!

I’ve mentioned before that our experiences with Little Man and Baby Girl have been very different. I know that no two kids are the same, but damn, it’s like night and day with those two.

LM was a very mild-mannered baby/toddler for the most part. This was a child you didn’t need safety locks and latches for (we had them anyway, of course). If you told him not to bother something one time, that was usually enough. (Except for the child locks–he’d take those apart, but wouldn’t actually bother the things they were keeping him safe from.) He really was like a little man.

But Baby Girl? Holy hell, there aren’t enough safety latches and gates in the world for this child, who is far from mild-mannered (she is feisty and has such an amazing spirit!). If you open a door to the cabinet containing toxic chemicals, she’s over there like Baby Flash. Like LM knew not to bother things, BG knows when there’s a window of opportunity, and she’ll try her damnedest to take it.

You could also count on LM to not do other things that would be at all dangerous. There was no jumping on or off things as a toddler. We would help him on his little slide, and he’d slide down, just as it was intended.

Now, Baby Girl? This child is determined to go to the ER. A couple weeks ago, we had to remove her slide and ride on toy from the living room because she wouldn’t stop standing on top of them and falling off. She’d climb up, stand, grin at us while we told her “No!” and fall off, as her balance sucks. Then she’d laugh at our horrified reactions.

This week she has been running and jumping (as well as she can) onto LM’s bean bag chair. Sometimes she misses and lands face first on the floor. Does that deter her? No. When we ask if she’s okay, she either laughs or fake coughs for a minute.

Another thing LM wouldn’t do was put objects in his mouth that didn’t belong there. He just didn’t.

Not Baby Girl. She will lick or attempt to chew on everything she finds, as most toddlers do. One of her board books has a section missing on the corner. There are teeth marks on that missing corner, too.

But the book has nothing on what she “tasted” this week.

Sam had finished changing BG’s diaper on Monday when he screamed “No, don’t lick that!” and started gagging.

“What is it?!” I asked.

He pointed to BG, who looked at me and smiled her devilish grin.

“A piece of poop fell out of her diaper and she picked it up and licked it!”

I started gagging, too.

Sam checked to make sure no other pieces of poop had fallen out of her diaper, and we got her hands cleaned up and brushed her teeth (what one would do when poop is licked, I assume). BG was very upset about having her teeth brushed, but didn’t seem too bothered about the poop.

If my blood pressure is up at my next doctor appointment, I think we know the culprit!

[Thanks to Joey for the post inspiration–after the poop, I figured it was time to do my own post.]

Most disgusting thing you (as a kid) or your kid has done?

We Don’t Collect Poop

So long Bob the Fish; we barely knew ye.

Little Man made the discovery that his 38-cent Walmart goldfish was dead yesterday morning when he found ol’ Bob floating belly up. Fortunately he wasn’t upset about it, as they hadn’t had much time to bond, plus I warned him that the likelihood of a pet fish–from Walmart, no less–living long was unlikely.

“How long do you give Bob?” I asked my hubby on Sunday.

“Maybe a week?”

“At least three days,” I said.

Obviously we were both wrong. Bob the Fish lasted less than 24 hours. And no, LM wasn’t neglectful; he fed the fish an appropriate amount and didn’t shake the bag Bob left the store in (the latter is because I carried the bag to make sure no shaking occurred).

“Mom, can we take this fish back and get our money back?” Little Man asked me.

“Let’s not do that,” I said, not wanting to tote around a dead fish. “It was only 38 cents.” Thirty-eight cents isn’t worth testing Walmart’s Moneyback Guarantee.

“Okay,” LM said and went outside with the fish. I assumed he was going to bury it.

I assumed wrong.

Last night, before Little Man went to bed, my husband told our son that he was “disgusted” by what he found on our porch.

“What is it?” I asked.

“His yellow bucket.” LM uses his yellow bucket to keep the frogs and other bugs he finds. “That dead fish and two dead frogs were in the bucket.”

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I, too, was disgusted.

“Just…why?” I asked. “Why didn’t you bury the fish? Why would you keep dead frogs?!”

Little Man looked at us like we were the crazy ones. “I wanted to see if they would come back alive, of course.”

“Once something’s dead, it doesn’t come back alive,” I said slowly.

“You said that Jesus was dead and came back alive,” Little Man said.

Sigh.

“Anyway, I was hoping that maybe they would turn into zombies. Or maybe vampires. There is a such thing as a vampire bat, you know. I could have a vampire frog or a vampire fish!”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“It could. You never know.”

Can you imagine that–a zombie frog and a vampire fish? What a pair that would make.

We told him to dump out the dead animals and that he is no longer to keep any frogs in his bucket. We found out why the frogs died–he put two very tiny frogs in his bucket and attempted to feed them grasshoppers that were as big as the damn frogs. Poor things.

“Look, you don’t need to keep using that bucket to play with since it’s had all that dead stuff in it. Let’s use a new bucket to play with,” Sam told LM. “You can use the bucket when you clean up your dog’s poop out of the yard. Just dump it in the trash can.”

“Okay,” LM said. “I’ll wait until it gets full to dump it.”

“What?” Sam asked.

“I’ll pick up the poop and put it in the bucket and when it gets all the way full, I’ll dump it.”

Jeezus.

“No…you are not keeping a bucket full of poop. Dump it out each time you clean up his area,” I said. I could just imagine–LM usually puts that bucket on a shelf on our front porch before he comes inside–bucket of poop on our front porch to greet our guests.

Sam looked equally horrified. “We don’t collect poop, son. Just put a Walmart bag in it and then throw it out each time.”

“You guys collect poop,” Little Man said. “You keep all of Baby Girl’s poopy diapers in that thing until it’s full and then you dump it in the trash can outside.” He is referring to our Diaper Genie. Not quite the same, but also not quite worth explaining.

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What nasty things have your kids (or any kids you’ve cared for or know) done?