Trash

The other night as I was putting Noah to bed, he said, “Here, Mommy, this is trash.” When he handed it to me, I realized that it was a booger.

We’ve had lots of snot and boogers around our house this winter, so we’ve been working on the whole if-you-have-a-booger-you-should-wipe-it-on-a-tissue-and-then-throw-it-in-the-trash-thing. I guess since Noah didn’t have quick access to a tissue, he figured he could skip that step. After all, moms are there just to take care of that kind of thing, right?

Zoe somehow missed the part about the tissue too. When I picked the kids up from my parents’ house after work yesterday, my step-dad told me, “Zoe had a present for me today. She picked her nose, handed me her booger, and said, ‘Trash.'” **

 

** Poor Tom. He got his share of bodily functions yesterday. In addition to dealing with Zoe’s boogers, he somehow got stuck changing Colin’s diaper explosion (requiring an outfit change and everything). Such a good Grandpa. He’s come a long way in just a few short years. When Noah was a baby, my parents were watching him one day and my mom had to leave for a doctor’s appointment, leaving Tom alone with Noah for the first time. Tom told my mom, “We’ll be fine as long as he doesn’t sh*t his pants.”

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