Poop

Seems to me that my life revolves around poop.  I wipe tiny tushes all day and tend to a litter box.  I wash dirty cloth diapers in a toilet, and I clean fish poop out of aquariums.  

It's also a topic of conversation that happens every night at suppertime.  Don't ask me why.  I don't have the faintest.  Just that Brooke has trained her little body to go poop when it's time to sit down and eat.  

So yeah, poop.

This morning Brooke was hysterical because she had a skidmark in her britches.  I reassured her that it was not life threatening, and instructed her to bring a clean pair of panties down and we'd get her cleaned up.

Meanwhile, the Sisters are making gagging noises and yelling about how gross it is, and then this conversation happened.

"Girls, seriously, chill out and don't worry about Brooke.  I got this."  (Yeah, I use hip terms like chill and seriously.  Seriously.)

"But, MOM," Riley says, "it's POOP.  That's gross."

"Yeah," I reply.  "And I clean poop out of your undies every time I do laundry."

Savvy pipes up, "But that isn't poop.  It's fart streaks."

"Well what do you think 'fart streaks' are, girl?  Bits of colored air coming out of your butt?" I ask.

"Well, yeah.  Farts are brown," Savvy informs me.

To which I reply, "Uh, no.  Poop is brown.  That is POOP coming out of your butt and marking up your drawers.  Really, girls?  You haven't figured that out yet?"

And now they are making more gagging noises upon discovering that farts are, in fact, air and not colored and it's poop streaking up their underwear.

Thanks for letting me inject a little dirty humor into your day.