I guess living with eight men of various heights may have dulled my refined female instincts some because I find boy humor really funny. I no longer sit primly with my lips pursed when I here naughty little words like fart or pooh, no I laugh heartily, slap my thigh, snort a little milk out my nose and shout,"pooh, you said pooh!". I know it's not really girlie to fall on the floor with my hands around my throat like I'm being gassed to death, groaning, "that was bad, I owe you for that one dude" when someone farts. Guess the old adage 'if you can't lick em, join em,' applies, "I said lick em" ha ha ha.
I bring up this indelicate side of my nature because my little ones have come up with some pretty funny 'pooh jokes' lately.
Adam comes in the house a couple day ago, takes my hand and says in an outraged voice, "Mom, look at your tree," he walks me out the front door, points at the Aspen tree covered with buds and says, "Pooh, birds got pooh all over your tree."Today we got our lawn aerated, two men pushed these big machines all over the grass turning up circular, tube like sod chunks. Joseph and Adam watched for a while then came in the house to tell on them. "Mom," Joseph says, "Those guys are putting pooh all over our grass!"
"Joseph, that's not pooh its chunks of dirt and grass," I explain laughing.
"So it's OK to walk on it if we have shoes on?" He asks dubiously, obviously not convinced that it's not icky nasty turds.
Meanwhile I'm about on the floor laughing thinking of a swarm? herd? oh yeah, pack of dogs madly umm...defecating (that's a big word for poohing) all over our yard, Hee, hee I said poohing.