Addendum to Tukey Talks, here's a Tukey Poop for your reading pleasure... or not. This is not for the light-hearted. This is Poop Talk. Consider yourself warned.
Well, Tukey still needs some help in the potty on occasion. It’s because I’m anal (pun intended), and since I’ve been a butt-wipin’, diaper-changer for some point in the past 10 years I have no problem going into the bathroom to help the little guy out once a day.
Beats skidmarks on his skivvies. I hate the thought of tossing poopy-pants into a load of laundry – the thought of that mixing into all the other clothes does not seem like it’s getting clean—it just seems like stuff is being relocated to other clothing. Right? Right.
So, today, I hear the tell-tale yelling from the bathroom, “Moooohhh-oohhhhmmmm! I’m Dooonnnnne!”
I go in, and ask, "You done?" He beams up at me, and leans forward.
I take a quick look-check into the bowl, and, well, let’s just say this was not your typical six-year-old poop!
You know the usual comment, “Looks like you took the Browns to the Superbowl?”
Well, instead, I went with the: TUKEY! My Gosh! You didn’t just take the Browns to the Superbowl!
You took the Browns! You took the Bears, you took the cheerleaders! You brought along the sportscasters, the coaches, and even all the fans to the Superbowl this time around!
“Don’t forget the Mascot!”
~ ~ ~
And then, another potty discussion, upon another wiping episode, another day, when Tukey sees me reach for the pack of matches because the smell was quite, well, you know, STINKY!
Tukey, clearly awestruck: You need to light a match?
Tukey: You need to light a match all because of me?
Tukey: You need to light a match all because of a huge poop from me?
Tukey: Can I light it?
Then I hear him go downstairs and say to his friends…
Hey guys, my mom needs to light a match!
And, to quote my cutie Tukey Patookey at his best: The End.