It's amazing what your kids think up when you're not around. On the drive down to Jersey, they revealed the nicknames they'd created for each other the day before.
Are you ready?
Jack is Big Cinnamon, Maggie in Son of a Bun and Libby is Big Butt.
Can you stand it? Steve and I just about wet ourselves when they told us. And to their credit, they couldn't have picked a better time to tell us. We were stuck in pre-Philadelphia traffic.
And Libby had just farted on my hand.
Clarification?
Well, we were bumper to bumper just north of Philly, with no relief in...what? Oh, Libby and the fart.
Well, we were bumper to bumper just north of Philly and Maggie had to pee...really, really, really bad. BUT...with no opportunity to find an exit (we wouldn't have anyway...if you blink and miss a sign, you're as good as dead...really). So, since we were crawling along anyway, I decided to let her pee in my empty, disposable coffee cup.
She dropped trou', squatted perfectly and relieved herself in the last drops of my cappuccino. Mind you, I was an integral part of her success. One hand held the cup, while the other hand steadied her itty bitty buns to ensure she didn't accidentally piddle all over me or the van. The tinkle was then transferred to a Gatorade bottle with a tight fitting lid.
Perfect. A little disgusting, but perfect.
Not to be outdone, Libby announces that she, too, had to go really, really, really bad. I knew she didn't. She had consumed less than half of what Maggie had in the previous 45 minutes, and until she saw the coffee cup routine, she mentioned nothing of needing to use the bathroom.
But, proving that someone does NOT have to pee is harder than it sounds, and she threw in a couple of tears for affect. So, we allowed her to unbuckle, get her shorts to her ankles and attempt to make good use of my coffee cup (with my help, of course).
And she strained. And shifted on her feet. And grunted a little.
After about a minute, she snapped her head up and barked, "I really do need to pee, Mommy!" and punctuated that with a juicy, noisy, vibrate-y fart. Right on my hand. That tickled.
Jack and Maggie lost it. It was almost too much for them. Steve and I were too stunned to speak.
I. Still. Have. No. Words.
No one, and I mean no one, cuts the cheese like Big Butt.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
6 comments:
I've seen Libby's... um how do I say it... "deposits" and I can assure you that you got off easy with just a fart!!!
Whats in a name? Well, I hope not a lot considering our nicknames for each other.. Birdshit and Farteen...
What's in a name indeed.
A name certainly is a big deal in numerology, and many "religions" put great store in a name, and put a great deal of effort into the naming process to draw good fortune to the named. That is coupled with the far that once you know someone's real name, you have total control over that person or being. Hence the "nickname" which provides protection from possession.
So many people still believe that we do not know the real name of God for that very reason. The ancient Hebrews knew him by several "nicknames" such as El Shaddai, Yahweh, Jehova, et al, and the mystical acronym YHVH.
And No! I don't want to know what y'all called (call) me behind my back.
So what'd you call yer Ma?
The quality and taste of your posts are sliding my dear Mart. Such graphic descriptions of the bodily functions is absolutely not necessary, and should be stopped this instant. As I recall, nobody, and I meen NOBODY cleared the room like you and your environmentally unsafe backside and festering internal organs. I, God help my frail mind, still recall you and your younger accomplice competing for both volume and stench on the living room couch. The scarring I suffered from that event denies me the memory of the exact time and location, but it was not THAT bloody long ago! By the way, the whole driving and peeing thing is SOOOOO much easier with a tail! No need for the cup, just the Gatorade bottle sitting on the floor of the truck and a little dexterity with the King Cobra. By the way, I had a great time with the Sutera horde last week, and have come to realise something. Steve is a really nice chap. The rest of you could work on your manners a bit though...Nothing but love and best wishes to you all and look forward to the next time.
Y'all need to clean up your descriptions of bodily functions and anatomical subjects. You make me doubt my parenting abilities, oh so long ago. Actually time has made me no longer responsible so disregard suggestions! I'm only happy I wasn't in the car with you on trip to Jersey.Kids names for each other are very clever,they have Versfeld blood too!!
I'm such a happy chappy! I haven't been quiet of late by choice - I've been under the impression that my ever-so-strict company firewall had blocked my access to your blog. Turns out that either I have been a bit of an idiot (and somehow saved the Firewall address under "Martine's Blog" in My Favourites) or I've suddenly developed IT hacking skills. Somehow I doubt it's the latter. Darn it. I always wanted to be a spy.
And then after such a loooooooooong absence I end off my marathon read with a fart story. Oh, the nostalgia for the poop stories you used to entertain us with. Laughed 'til I let one slip.
Okay, now that I realise I have out-foxed the Firewall (read myself) I promise that I'll put up a post. I'm on it. Straight after I take my car in for a service and have washed years worth of dishes to try to cover the bill.
LADIES! Let me be the first to pass on what appears to be a little known fact. Men feel very uncomfortable when women discuss their bodily functions. In any detail. For us it is like hearing somebody dumped a truck load of nuclear waste in our favorite fishing hole. Please refrain. Emily, fantastic hovel you have there! Just screams SA. Did I read you right when you said your hubby climbed a mountain to ask your dad for your hand? What's your dad doing on the top of a mountain? Does he give just 1 wish or can I get 3?
Post a Comment