I wasn’t going to tell you this because I know not everyone has a wrought iron stomach like I do. So here’s what I’m going to do. If you’re at all queasy today, or if you can’t appreciate a good quip about (spoiler alert!) bodily functions, I’m going to give you this here picture to look at and then you’re free to move on.
Ok? Those who are left, you’re ok with poop talk, right? I mean, I’ve given you sufficient warning, so I don’t want to hear any complaints, comprende?
Alright, so the other night AH and I were having fish for dinner and in an attempt to avoid an argument over dinner as we try to get the girls to eat something they don’t really like, we asked them what they’d prefer. Eirinn said chicken nuggets. Yarf, but fine.
Avery said poop. Because of course she did.
We asked her again. She said poop again.
Off they went to play. I turned to AH and said “let’s teach her a lesson,” because I’m a super good mom who will turn any situation into a learning opportunity for our children. Plus, I have a sick sense of humour.
And because AH is the same, we gave Eirinn a plate of French fries, peas and chicken nuggets and Avery got French fries, peas, and a big dollop of chocolate pudding in the shape of a cow patty.
I got my camera and called the kids to the table. AH brought out the plates and made the presentation.
Avery’s face showed mild confusion. For a split second, we thought we may have won succeeded in teaching her to not be gross. You know, in a Do As I Say, Not As I Do type situation. But then she picked up a fry and the look on her face changed. She was calling our bluff. She took the fry, dipped it in the “poop” and ate it.
Before we told her it WASN’T poop. It was still poop in her mind.
But then, of course, she liked it. We had failed miserably, no matter how you look at it. Either she continues to believe it’s poop and will think that poop tastes like chocolate pudding, leading to situations much more heinous than we had just created, or we reveal that it is in fact chocolate pudding and she’ll think that if she behaves in a disgusting manner, that she’ll be rewarded with something delicious.
Or we could just laugh hysterically throughout the entire meal, grateful that we all share the same twisted sense of humour.
We eventually gave her the chicken nuggets that we had made for her for her real dinner. She dipped those in the chocolate pudding, too, as well as ketchup. We’ll never know if she actually liked how her concoction tasted, or if she was attempting to out gross the Gross Masters that are her parents.