This afternoon, Rebekah toddled up to me and said:

“Puppy.”

She said this somewhat earnestly, so I of course ask:

“What?”

“Puppy,” she says, with a look of consternation. 

“You want to go potty, sweetie?”

“Yea…noooooo.” with a little shake of the head.

“What do you want, ‘Bekah?”

“Puppy pants.”

“Puppy pants?”

“Puppy… pants.”

“…”

“Puppy. Pants.”

“You… want to go potty? Do you need to go poopy?”

She looks up at me, appraising my dimness.

“Diaper.” she says, walking over to the changing table and pointing. 

I check her bottom. Sure enough.

“Ah. POOPY pants!”

Ah, what a day.

As I mentioned, Rebekah was sick. The vomiting and fever have since given way to explosive diarrhea (more on that later). Of note is the fact that our dryer kicked the bucket exactly one load into three days worth of vomiting. As you might imagine, there's lots of laundry to do with a sick child and having no dryer handy…well. I got a not-altogether-unpleasant flashback to hanging clothes out to dry as a kid. It was nice to reminisce. Only, when I was young, we were doing it in on a line in the backyard, not on a jerry-rigged system strung out across the kitchen and back. But this got us through about nine loads of clothes and Reed thought it was a lot of fun to run around underneath the clothes, towels and assorted linens.

Today, our replacement dryer showed up … with its partner, a new clothes washer. Our last duo had lasted ten years, so we figured we were about due. About five minutes after the delivery guys leave, I realize the new washer keeps cutting off after two minutes. Push start. Two minutes and it cuts off. Repeat. At this point, I'm getting fairly frustrated as the morning has consisted of waiting around to get all the vast quantities of household laundry started, removing all the fittings and associated crap from the old units, etc. Now the new one isn't even working! And I'd just let my still-working washer walk out the door! 

I figured out it was the old supply hoses that were causing a water flow restriction. But given some problems with faucet handles… well, long story short I ended up flooding the laundry room, which then flooded down into the basement. Not huge. Not water standing inches deep. But still a pain in the butt. Soaking wet, I manage to run downstairs and shut of the water main, get the spill cleaned up, pull the carpet up, fans running, new hoses hooked back up, new washer running with the first load and I'm just about to plop my tired ass down on the couch when the baby monitor crackles to life. 

Ah.

So, how do I end this day?

Rebekah has spent the vast majority of dinner out of her chair and sitting smugly in mommy's lap. Then she pops up suddenly, hustles over to me, clambers up into my arms, grabs me in a big hug (really sweet, right?) … and promptly explodes diarrhea out of her diaper. 

Yay!

Rebekah pooped in the potty today! I know this seems like an odd exclamation to anyone who doesn't have children, but wait until you've changed close to 10,000 diapers and then talk to me.

Stinkbutt.
Cute-zilla.
Princess Poopy Pants.

I’ve got lots of names for my little girl. But tonight I’m rocking her to sleep on my shoulder and little baby fingers play sweetly, carelessly on the back of my neck sending an emotional electricity shivering up my spine. Tonight she’s my little angel.

But I’m still pretty sure she’ll have a poopy present for me come morning.

 Author's Note: Yes. I know it's another post about my kids. Bite me.

This morning:
I’m blearily fixing breakfast as Reed sits at the table looking at a book.

“This book was made while we were sleeping.”

“Huh?” I look over and he’s staring at the back cover of the book.

“This book was made while we were asleep.”

“What do you mean?”

“It says it was made in China, so that means it was made while we were sleeping.”

Now, maybe it was just taking a while for all my gears to engage, but the fact that he’d put together where China was in relation to the United States and the fact that the rotation of the Earth relative to the sun would mean that their daytime (or ‘worktime’) is our nighttime just floored me. Nevermind that he’s reading the fine “Made in…” print on the back of a book.

This evening:
Background: Just for reference, my son has at times in the past referred to feces by familial relation. That is, a big poop is the ‘daddy’ poop, a medium one will be the ‘mommy’ and any little ones are the ‘babies.’ Yeah. I know. Weird. Anyway…

Just prior to bed, he runs up to me to tell me he needs to take a dump in a hurry. I hustle him into the bathroom, put on the little seat insert so he won’t fall in and set him up there to do his business.

Splish.

One little pebble falls out.

“I’m done.”

“C’mon, buddy. I know you’ve got more poop than that.”

“Nope.”

“Well, it’s going to be a lot better to try here than to poop in bed tonight, right?”

So, he puts his grunt face on and many more rabbit turds pop out.

“Alright, buddy! See? That’s a whole lot more poop!”

And he says:  “Yeah. It’s a poop family reunion.”

Rebekah stabbed me in the carotid artery today with a pen. Fortunately, it was the retractable kind and, thankfully, retracted. I presume she is now merely lying in wait for her next opportunity to do me in. Perhaps this is just part and parcel of raising a female of the species…

I know I brag a lot on Reed here (who, I might note, correctly identified California, Oregon, Idaho, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada and Oklahoma on an unlabeled map before getting tired/bored at the library today) but I think Bekah’s going to be something special, too. For instance, “The Electric Slide” came on our car radio for some unknown reason. She immediately started crying uncontrollably but ceased as soon as I changed the station. I know; genius, right? Then, when looking at Reed’s American Presidents placemat during dinner one night, she pointed to Reagan, Dubya and Nixon in turn whilst saying “poop” each time. I could have wept I was so proud.

1. you can go back in time and end ww2 3 months early. but in order for this to happen, you have to give hitler a bj. a full-on porn one. do you agree to the mission?

ok, that one was easy. because even if you say no in your head, you won't admit to it publicly. a bj for thousands of human lives?

2. scientists have found the perfect food. it provides everything you need nutritionally, has very strong health benefits, is ethical and has a low environmental footprint. there are two downsides: 1. you must eat it and only it for it to have good effects on you. 2. it tastes, literally, like poo. do you go on the diet?

i think i might. even though it would mean never enjoying food again, i think my health is worth more than tasting awesomeness. i'm not sure though.

3. finally: you are in a rock group and have offered to play at a rehab clinic in california. do you open your set with your song who lyrics are: ""Nicotine, valium, vicodin, marijuana, ecstasy and alcohol… c-c-c-c-c-cocaine"?

you do if you are queens of the stone age. jackasses.