He's Very Versatile
It doesn’t matter what the conversation is about, Paul can fit in his favorite word.
In song: “Old MacDonald had a farm, e-I-e-I-o. And on his farm he had some poop, e-I-e-I-o … That's disgusting!”
In verse: “Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the poopy clock … That's disgusting!”
In prayer: “Please God, help Annie not to poop in her diaper … That's disgusting!”
Here's my problem. My biggest source of humorous material comes from my three kids. My son, Paul, produces some of my best material. Paul is a textbook example of a three year-old boy. His favorite noun is “poop” and favorite adjective is “poopy.” When I say favorite, I don’t mean he simply enjoys using these words, I mean that he doesn't let a sentence leave his lips without inserting one or the other. He also enjoys telling us that anything poopy is disgusting.
That's Disgusting!
Here's a typical conversation between Paul and me.
Me: Would you like me to read you a book before bed?
Paul: A poopy book?
Me: No, not a poopy book.
Paul: A poopy book! That's disgusting!
Me: I don’t want you to say “poopy.”
Paul: It's okay to say, “Annie pooped,” isn’t it? (Annie is our five-month-old daughter.)
Me: Yes, it's okay to tell me if Annie pooped.
Paul: Annie pooped … That's disgusting!
Me: How do you know she pooped? She's asleep upstairs.
Paul: Maybe she pooped.
Me: Annie didn’t poop.
Paul: She's not poopy?
Me: No. Why don’t you pick a book to read.
Paul: A book about poop? That's disgusting!
The Best Part of Camping
I recently took my kids camping, along with a group of friends. There were a total of 14 children under the age of five — kids who were allowed to pee in the woods whenever they wanted.
My friend, Tina, summed up a three year-old boy's view of camping as, “the world is my toilet.” With any luck our kids will see the advent of space travel within their lifetimes. Then the entire universe can be their toilet.
At one point during the weekend, Tina's son shouted out from behind a bush, “I peed on a woodchuck!” Paul quickly responded with, “Peed on a woodchuck! That's disgusting!” Paul doesn’t even know what a woodchuck is.
Paul, who is terrified to pee standing up in front of the toilet, quickly lost his phobia in the great outdoors. He was particularly enamored with the idea of peeing in the water while swimming in the pond. I could tell he found it very convenient not to have to stop and interrupt his play. It was fine with me until he made the leap from peeing in the water to peeing whenever he was wearing his bathing suit. While building a sand castle on the beach, he smugly announced, “I'm peeing, Dad.”
“Peeing!” I shouted. “That's disgusting!”
My five-year-old daughter never experienced this stage of limited vocabulary, so I suspect it is phase only boys go through. If we're lucky, Paul's potty talk will evolve into a love for “The Three Stooges.” At least that's what happened to me.
(To subscribe to Tim’s column or read more of his work, visit his Web site at homepages.udayton.edu/~bete.)
