There are a few things going on around here lately that I feel the need to share with you. I've refrained from doing so this long because most of the topics are a little TMI. However, I am the queen of the overshare and have decided that you enter this blog at your own risk.
In all fairness the title of this blog gives the head's up on what the content is, so quit now if you don't think you can handle it. For those of you who revel in this kind of thing, I salute you and I say (this is for you Mrs. Birdie) fart, fart, poopy poop, fart. Penis.
I've broken this blog down into three short stories. Read them and weep.
I'm not a gaseous person. I hardly ever burp or fart. But in the effort of full disclosure - because why wouldn't I want to fully disclose my bodily functions - I am really gassy these days. Not mildly gassy either. Like a stink that would make you cry, gassy.
Last night after my kids and Coach were asleep I was sitting on the floor cleaning my kids books up and let one loose. OH MY GOSH! I'm not sure how I didn't pass out sitting there in my own stench. The smell was such that I was transported back to when I was pregnant for Bella and a bunch of us loaded into the car to go to Hooter's Quiz night. (yes, Hooter's is where all the pregnant ladies hang out. Judge all you want, their chicken wings are great.) On the way home Tony ripped a stinky one. It was so bad that I stopped the car, opened the driver's door and proceeded to vomit just from the smell of him.
Isn't that a lovely story? Wanna hear another?
I think it is a very well known fact that boys of all ages are obsessed with their penises. My little boy is no exception. He takes his pants off completely every time he goes to the bathroom and then runs through the house half-naked pretending to pee chocolate milk on things. I would try to stop him but I'd have to stop laughing first. I'm a terrible mother.
The other night I had both Bella and Braden in the bath and she started to shriek, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Naturally I assumed he was peeing in the bath so I asked him,
"Did you pee in the bath?"
"Are you sure?"
By now I can see he's got his hand all over his penis tugging on it and such. He had not peed in the bath. He was pulling on his penis and was as fascinated with the result of such an action and his sister was horrified.
I took them out of the bath.
Then much to his amazement and apparent disappointment, he looked down at his penis post bath-touching and said, "Mommy, it's small now."
Yeah, that's how that little weapon you carry around works, kid. Good luck figuring it out.
Finally, here's a story about talking to your kids about Birth Control.
I was chatting with my friend, Captain Jack. I call her this not because she loves Johnny Depp or pirates in general but because she drinks too much. I kid, I kid. She was telling me how she started a new birth control, the Nuvaring. I'm unfamiliar with this kind of birth control but she informed me that you, um, insert it (sorry for the visual) just like you would a tampon. So her period ended and she hid in the master bath of her house to get all birth controlled up. In wanders her small child, a boy. He proceeded to lay on the floor and watch the whole procedure with apt fascination. When she had completed her task, he stood up, clapped and said, "Good Job, Mommy." At least she won't have to have the sex talk with him now. Right?
I know this last story pushed the limits and that some of you are absolutely mortified right now. I, on the other hand, can't stop laughing at the visual. Then again according to facebook, I'm 67% evil.