When I was a little girl, my grandmother took issue with the phrases 'pee-pee' and 'poopy'. At a young age, she began giving code phrases for our pottying needs. There were several that simply never took, which we can all be thankful for because a few that I remember were utterly ridiculous. One, however, stuck. When we needed to go poop we were supposed to tell her that 'we stepped on a duck'. For whatever reason, my sisters and I twigged to that funny phrase and I can't tell you how happy it made our grandmother. Even better, the entire family still uses this phrase.
But we warped it to suit our own twisty senses of humor. At our house, if you hear someone say something about stepping on a duck, you can be sure that a stink will assault you soon and that gas was passed. Our Anna has her own spin. She will tell you she didn't step on a duck... she stepped on a 'fwog!' And we laugh every single time. Because there is no shortage of juvenile humor in our house.
Now, my Thomas, my sweet, kind, friendly, wonderful Thomas... well, he delights in the fine art of stepping on ducks. He is a true boy and each and every time he toots, he slyly looks around to see who the first victim will be.
And occasionally, he aims.
He walked over to me with a look of sweet innocence, sat down next to me, cuddled in close and hugged me while telling me he loved me. And then he jumped up and walked away. While I was pondering how much longer I would have to enjoy these impulsive displays of affection before he deemed himself to macho, I noticed the stink.
"Thomas!" I cried.
He was standing on the far side of the room when his peal of laughter rang out and he took off running around sharing his accomplishment.