A poop story...

This story is about butts and poop. IF you don't think that stories with butts and poop in them are funny, stop reading.


In Pre-K land, I had a little boy who was a regular visitor to the potty right after nap. Like clockwork. I even knew that I'd let nap run a little late if my sweet bathroom buddy woke up to go.

Usually he just went in and came out and all was done in a matter of minutes.

One day he goes in....and I wait....and wait....and let the others who need to "go" use the poty next door... and wait....and wait... I didn't want to interrupt... I knew he was ok from the one-sided conversation that was going on.

At the 10 minute mark I decided that enough is enough.

"Sweet Love? How ya doin in there?"

"Um..."

"Well, tell me what's wrong...."

"Um... Miss G? Mybuttwon'tletmypoopcomeout."

"Your.... what?"

"My BUTT... won't LET... my POOOOOOOP.... come OUT."

oh my.

"Well... can you tell you butt you'll just try again later?"

"Yeah... that works."

SO glad we can all get along.

Are your eyes broken?

Back in the days of Pre-K land, I used to try to emphasize my "nice-mean voice" with my "I-really-mean-business-face". (Ok, so I still do that in pre-teen-land...) You know the face I mean. Chin down turned, eyebrows up, eyes open wide... And in Pre-K land I often found myself balancing on my toes, trying not to fall over, while maintaining eye contact with an almost-five-year-old while simultaneously making mean face.

My darling Spenny was a frequent recipient of mean face. Spenny wasn't a bad kid - but mean face was just super effective on him. It would stop him in his tracks, he'd literally drop what he was working on, and get a scared-puppy-in-the-headlights look.

One day, I'd say in March or so, after receiving more mean faces that I could ever begin to count, I noticed that sweet Spenny wasn't so responsive.

Time to get out mean voice!

I squat down, balance, make eye contact, and as I'm trying to maintain mean face and choose my words carefully, I notice Spen looking deep into my face.

He looks concerned. He looks worried.

GOOD! This will be short and sweet. (Mind you, NOTHING is ever short and sweet in Pre-K land!)

I open my mouth to ask Spen if he'd like to share something with me and before I get a single syllable - before I even can take a breath - he puts his sweet, almost-five-hand on my cheek and says in the most sincere voice I've ever heard:

"Miss G? Are your eyes broken? Did I break your eyes?"

Oh, out of the mouths of babies. I switched from the mean eyes to the mean-eyebrows after that day!