So lately the only thing my boys talk about is poop. Bridges are made of poop. Sandwiches taste like poop. Little Guy smells like poop. Okay, that last one is mostly true almost always. I’m trying not to make a big deal out of it because I don’t want it to turn into a thing. You know how it goes when Mama doesn’t like something and makes it known. Whatever it is becomes the thing that must be talked about/touched/tasted/worn. Yeah.
Last night we were on our way to meet with some friends from church. As we were driving the boys continued their poop dialogue that had begun at breakfast. Tim and I decided that we might possibly be embarrassed if they continued to talk this way in front of others.
Backseat: “Poop! Poopy! That road is made of poop. Poop.”
Frontseat: “Okay, no more talk about poop. Not another word about poop for the rest of the night.”
Yeah, they’re not gonna stop. Also, kids are weird.
It wasn’t until today at the grocery store that I became concerned about this behavior. I was standing in those skinny aisles by the registers trying to keep the cart in the very middle because the jerks in charge of product placement put so much CRAP in those small places and my children grab all of it…ahem…and Little Guy leans over and smiles at an old lady. Nice, right? But then he opens his mouth, and I’m sure you know what’s coming, “Hi, Poopy-Poop!”
I was too embarrassed to even turn around and apologize. I just exited the scene as quickly as I could. This is when I realized that this has indeed turned into a thing. Sigh.