It all started last week in Kohl's.
"Mom?" Ellerie asked in a whispered shriek.
"I farted, " and then she paused, glanced around to see if anyone but me was listening, and continued, "but instead of a fart, I think a little poop came out!"
Nine dollars, a new pair of leggings, and a sponge bath for Ellerie in the department store restroom later, all was well.
Sharts happen, right?
Over the next few days, my family, including Ellerie, laughed at the thought of me, the germ-a-phobe, in a public restroom dealing with a naked and poopy 4 year old. I, of course, laughed along with them. Ellerie and I even did a reenactment of the crazy situation or "The Sharting" as it came to be known in family lore.
This weekend though I wasn't laughing when I had to deal with the stomach flu and Ethan. (Incidentally, it is times like these when I wonder if Mary ever had to clean up a pukey, poopy Jesus, and if she did, did she gag at the yucky smells like I do?) Thankfully, this morning Ethan was finally ready to go back to school, and after getting ready, I encouraged Ethan to try to go to the bathroom one last time before going to school.
He agreed and headed for the bathroom with the words, "I certainly don't want to be in 'The Sharting, Part II' !"
Is it any wonder why I love that boy so?