What Hits The Fan

H-3: FEE FI FO FUM! I smell the blood of an Englishman!
Me: You do? Really?
H-3: No, actually, I think it's just a poopy diaper.

What is it about poo? Why is it so funny? So fascinating? So discussable in public situations? The other night we are walking around one of those stores that you need a card to get into and a freight truck to get out of. I needed some baking sugar, and purchased it in the smallest bag they had, ten pounds.

H-3: Mama, what is that?
Me: It's a sack of sugar.
H-3: NO! Silly Mommy!
Me: Really, it is.
Daddy: I think it is a sack of sucre!
H-3: No, silly Daddy! It's a sack of.............POO POO! (insert two children giggling madly).

I suppose I should be grateful she does not know the other word yet.

Her brother is no better. Sometimes we let him hang out in a pair of cotton trainers, since he is prone to rashes. A couple months ago my downstairs stack ran out, so I had to run upstairs to get more. I grabbed a pencil, my engineer's rule, and some green engineering paper (LOVE that stuff) while I was upstairs since I was plotting out how much it would be to replace our deck surface. I knew where all that was. That is ALL I did upstairs.

Unfortunately, I forgot that time moves at different speeds in different levels of the house when you leave you not mobile baby on a different level. Nakey butt. Have I mentioned that poo is really facinating? Have I mentioned that what E-1 lacks in verbal precociousness he more than makes up for in determination and creativity? Had it been finger paint on paper, it would have been an impressive bit of art work for a 6 month old.

Please tell me that at least girls grow out of this.