The fascination of toots and poops for boys (and men in some cases) is absolutely beyond me. This toot/poop sound, for years, has been Azul’s go-to response when he has nothing else to say, it’s also his imaginary hand gun sound when pretending to shoot, and now a staple in his vocabulary. I haven’t really tried to halt this behavior, but I haven’t tried to encourage it either. It has left me confused and slightly entertained.
While sitting at the table last night, this was the dinner music my six year-old provided. It wasn’t the first time he had sung this and I am assuming it’s not going to be the last. And in all fairness, as gross as this is, he did throw in a little bit of politeness. Yuck! He, he, he…
“I’m going to tell you a fairy tale, okay?” Azul said cuddling up to me.
“Oh, I love fairy tales, please do!” I responded with bated breath, I was excited that my six year-old wanted to tell his OWN story. All I was thinking while patting myself on the back was, All that reading has really paid off. And, I am the best mom ever!
He started, “Once upon a time there was a baby and he loved teddy bears. So one day the baby pooped out a teddy bear and he ate him, poop and all because he loved him.” Followed by laughter and his hand immediately over his mouth in a weak attempt to pretend he didn’t have this all planned out. My eyes were wide and eyebrows raised.
“That’s gross!” I immediately responded. Ugh! Poop! Why does it always lead to poop? Over the years I have come to expect this, but I will never fully accept it, boys love poop.
Although short, the story did have many typical aspects of fairy tales: babies, animals, love. And there was some action, pooping and eating.
The laughter continued and he finally said, “I love to gross you out! It’s funny.” The embrace was cut short and he went about his business still laughing.
Boys…as long as it ends in poop it is funny!?
I have learned many things from Azul over the years, and much like Plato to Socrates, I have listened and written his words. And now some Christmas knowledge has been passed down to me. Azul informed me, “Santa doesn’t poop!” In my desire for knowledge and with a furrowed brow, I responded, “What?” He repeated, “Santa doesn’t poop.” Sensing my misunderstanding he continued, “How do you think he gets so fat? He doesn’t poop!” Much like a student to his teacher I stared in amazement, not knowing what to say, but now knowing something I never knew before and questioning whether sometimes ignorance is bliss.