A Song In My Fart
I made a happy dinner tonight - corn on the cob, watermelon, brown rice, baked beans and turkey kielbasa. Happy, in that the kids will eat it. Happy, in that they will eat SECONDS.
In my giddy, 'no one likes a skinny Santa' mood, I found myself hovering beside the table, bowl full of corn ears on my hip, reciting a bit of verse, to bring a little culture to the atmosphere.
Unlike Mir, who launched into show tunes at the end of a grueling day, I busted out with this:
Beans, beans, the musical fruit
The more you eat, the more you poot
The more you poot, the better you feel
So let's eat beans with every meal!
Good. Great, in fact. Because I don't battle with the potty talkin' impulses of my three cultured darlings on an every meal basis. No, that's not my family. Bwahahahahaha. Who the heck is in charge around here?
Oh. Me. Riiiiiight. Very well then.
So, huzzah me, because the kids? Think I am freakin' hilarious.
After we did a choral chanting, I encouraged the kids to "eat, eat!" and walked around the table with the big pot o' beans and a wooden spoon, ready to whap down a new helping. That cracked me up, because around here, there is a steakhouse or two that in years past had a 'bean girl' who would walk around in cowgirl regalia with a pot of bean, to refill customer's platters. She was always kind of a sexpot, from what I recall. I recently saw a banner on the outside of the restaurant proclaiming "The Bean Gal is Back!"
Woooooo-eeeeeeee, boy. I could totally do that job.
Anyway, the kids gnawed on their corn for a while, and then my son said, "Hey, Mommy, remember that time I had corn poopie?"
I just didn't say a word. Neither did his sisters, strangely. It was just silent for a full minute. No one made any eye contact. After a minute, my son glanced sideways at me. My lip must have twitched, because he grinned from ear to ear, and we all simultaneously lost it. My stomach still aches from the laughing.
Another charming tableau from the Circus. Aren't you glad to know?