This morning I found myself reading up on some blog posts from ten years ago. The ten year anniversary of electing one of the most awesome presidents ever will do that to you.
I came up on this amazing post from December of 2008, which I had totally forgotten about. Ten years ago, Steven and I thought it best to curb our burping and farting around innocent little baby Lydia. So, ten years later, I figure I should give an update on vulgarity around the taco. As a side note, that little taco (though still little) is a whopping ten years old now. Makes her own sandwiches and everything.
We have had a nightly bedtime ritual going on for years now without many changes. First, we have Medicine and Pumpkin, when they take their nightly Zyrtec and then get to pick out a dessert from their Halloween pumpkin, which is an all-year presence in the house. Then it’s Teeth Brushing Time, when whoever is first finishing their Pumpkin runs as fast as they can to the bathroom, while the loser stands outside the bathroom, annoying their sibling and seeing how much they can get away with before getting yelled at for distracting the other.
That’s my least favorite part, by far.
Once teeth are brushed, then it’s time for Hugs and Kisses, then off to bed they go. More or less.
“Now what in the heck does this have to do with vulgarity, Carrie?” I hear you pondering.
Well, as I said, this bedtime ritual has not been changed much . . . except for one recent addition by Sam. Sam likes to hug as hard as he can. And boy I mean HUG AS HARD AS HE CAN. He wraps his arms around your waist and squeezes like a boa constrictor. One time this constriction managed to squeeze out a fart from me, and both kids hit the floor laughing.
So now, each night when Sam is coming up to give me his Hug of Death, he asks me, “Fart?” Then he comes up to hug me, whispering under his breath the whole time, “pleasefartpleasefartpleasefart!”
He has about a 30% success rate.