No, that title doesn’t consist of what I’m doing in front of the computer.
At the moment.
It has to do with something I’ve been thinking about all day. And suffering with for the last almost nine years!
I don’t really understand it, but man, boys have a huge obsession with bodily functions.
This isn’t really something I’m just discovering. I grew up with a brother. We giggled non-stop over stupid things, but once it got into the gross-out poo & pee stuff, I stopped laughing… most of the time.
And my husband isn’t one to hold back in that area either. Trust me.
Of course he could say the same for me I’m sure.
Anyhoo – let’s focus on the kids today before we get into a he stinks/she burps argument.
I think I should put a WARNING in here first. This post is going to concentrate on exactly what the title says. So don’t read any further if you don’t want to be grossed out. Like totally. Like, know what I mean? Like, gnarly. Like, totally.
Okay, I’m done.
Anyhoo, I woke up this morning to the youngest coughing up a lung and sniffing all the boogers in his nose back up into his body. Loudly.
At the breakfast table a little later on, talk inevitably turned to poo. I’ll give you an example;
One child says, “I’m eating cereal”.
One pipes up with, “I’m eating poo”.
I remind them to say excuse me.
One child says, “Can I have some juice please?”
Another contributes a sparkling comment in the form of, “I’m going to drink boogers! And pee!”
I remind them to say excuse me.
Another one jumps up from the table. Makes farting sounds with his arm.
Another one joins in with special mouth-made fart effects.
Another one burps.
They all erupt into giggles and hoots.
I yell, “Excuse me! Say excuse me!”
And so on.
Even tonight, the whole family went out to a movie. I’m excited as I haven’t been out in a while with the five of us. And I love the idea of heading out with my boys and showing them off and having a fun time with them.
And then in the van – it begins.
I think I’ve blocked the specifics from my mind, but it definitely went on a quick poo-laden ride down to the sewer in an amazing amount of time. Of course everyone was excited to head out, so the herd mentality kicked in right away and they were in a kind of worms & snails & puppy dog tails overdrive the whole way to the theatre.
For those of you without a bunch of males in your life, maybe I should explain the ‘herd mentality’ thing. I believe it’s real. You may have heard about this phenomenon before. But having to witness it first-hand in your own children is chilling in a way that makes you question whether you actually birthed these crazy little stinkers in the first place or if there was a mix-up at the hospital!!
It works like this. One boy says something and giggles. The next one says something in response, while giggling, and while the third tries to get his two cents in at the same time. The first one responds in kind. The other two are laughing and still saying something. Sounds kinda civilized so far, right?
Throw in the fact that they’re getting louder with each sentence. And then the touching starts. Someone has to poke or slap. Then another might kick. They’re still getting louder. And then the potty-talk is introduced. More hysterical laughter. Chasing. Hitting. Laughing. Repeating what the other guy said because it is oooh so funny. Louder. Louder. More laughing.
It builds and builds.
And there’s plenty of yelling. Mostly from the parents. Telling the kids to calm down, go outside, be quiet, watch the language, etc.
So, the movie tonight.
I was pretty worried by the time we got there. My palms were a bit sweaty and my jaw still hurts from gritting my teeth, praying to god-allah-buddah to help my children remember their manners in public without me having to threaten and yell in the van before we actually went into the theatre…
They were actually really good tonight though. Yay me!
I can’t complain too much though. I get a kick out of the boy mentality. Most of the time, until it gets really carried away. I have no problem with the potty talk, really. They just need to know that there is a time and a place for it.
Grandpa doesn’t need to know about you puking your guts out constantly until 4 in the morning last week. And what colour it was. And how you could see pieces of your hamburger in the toilet.
Nana might not appreciate you burping at the table. I sure don’t.
The babysitter probably doesn’t need to know that you had corn. In the toilet. After going ‘number two.’
Daddy does not like boogers added to his dinner plate when you sneeze & forget to cover your mouth & nose (middle child, I’m talking to you!).
And when the art teacher at school asks you to draw a clown, including a worm coming out of his nose is just silly (middle child, again, I’m talking to you).
Things like that. If it isn’t during situations like that, then bring on the grossology. They’re boys for crying in the sink! That’s what they’re here for!
And I perpetuate it a bit. If you’re ever around me and the youngest brings up the story I tell about the Three Little Bears, turn and run.
We were in Palm Springs last year and without any books for our nightly story time. Hubby wasn’t there. Just me and my boys.
To wrap up the night, I thought I’d tell a story to them myself. Who needs a book?
So I told about the Three Farting Bears. Nope, it wasn’t porridge that Goldilocks found. It was baked beans. And when she went to sit down, there were whoopee cushions on the chairs. Don’t even get me started on what happens when the beans kick in for Goldilocks.
Suffice to say that the kids loved it and still ask for that story to this day.
Feel free to use it for your own rug rats. I’m sure they’ll get a kick out of it.
Who doesn’t laugh at that potty-humour? I still do. And not just from my kids.
On my mom’s side of the family, one motto is, “Sooner or later it all comes down to poop.”
We could start a conversation about waterskiing, gardening, or some great movie out now. And we’ll end up talking about bodily functions.
Unfortunately for the people who married into the family, these deep discussions usually take place around the dinner table.
So I guess my kids come by it honestly.
If they weren’t so darn cute trying to make farting sounds with their armpits, I’d probably mind more.
As it is, the wine helps to create a sort of glow to it all. Hallelujah. Because I think I’m in for quite a few more years of this ca-ca.