Boo On Poo: How I Learned Never To Leave the House Without an Extra Onesie

This morning my mom called to tell me that she was playing hooky from work and wanted to go shopping and out to lunch, would I like to come? Critter and I were in the car before I finished drying my hair. Nothing says Happy Friday like free lunch.

As Madre and I were finishing eating, we noticed Critter was turning a funny purple color. I leaped up and pounded him on the back thinking that he was choking on a cheerio. He returned to a normal shade and I returned to my seat, only to have him do another Barney impression a couple of minutes later. Before I could dial 911 my mother informed me that she thought he was "making number 2." Which she said just like that: making number 2.

When we were done with lunch and Critter had gone through several rounds of color change theory, Madre volunteered to take him out to the car and change him while I cleaned up the table. I threw the trash away, refilled my drink, went to the restroom, and ran into and chatted with a friend before finally making it out to the parking lot. So, I was pretty surprised to see my mom standing by the back door instead of huffily waiting in the passenger seat.

As I rounded the front of the car I could see that she was gingerly holding up a giggling Critter by the feet. "What the....?" I started to ask. I was cut short, however, by the shock of noticing that Critter appeared to have had a run in with the crazy-eyed spray tan lady at our local Ultra Tan. A second later, I figured it out. Critter had poo (POO!!) smeared all over his legs and stomach. I then noticed that his onsie, which had been a cream color at lunch but was now closer to that of mud, in a heap on the pavement.

My mom narrowed her eyes at me. "We need napkins." She growled. "And a cup of water." The travel wipes box lay empty about a foot from the mud onsie. I turned on my heel and scampered back into the restaurant before she could demand that I hold his feet.

As I got back to the parking lot, I could see my mom shaking her head while a group of teenaged girls walked by laughing. When they passed I heard one saying "Eww, that is so gross! I am so never having kids!"

"Girlie," I wanted to say "I'm in total agreement."

Nothing says "I love you" like the gift of poop

This weekend Husband and I took Critter and the two neighbor girls to a birds of prey demonstration. After the demonstration, we all trooped into the gift shop so the girls could spend their 10 bucks on eagle paraphernalia. While looking at the different ecologically friendly wares, I spied a cute little blue notebook. Upon closer inspection, I realized the notebook was created entirely from recycled elephant poop.

"Oh, my goodness!" I squealed, grabbing up a handful of the journals. "It's POOP!" I waved the books in my husband's direction, while the woman beside me began to back away nonchalantly.

"Awesome!" A boy about 7 or 8 years old materialized beside me. He reached out and took one of the notebooks, which bore the emblem of an elephant, along with the tagline "We're number one at number two."

"Wow" he breathed, staring up at me in wonder. "I didn't know elephants pooped notebooks!"

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(For those who know me, or have simply seen me across a crowded room, and therefore are privy to my love of all things elephant, it should not surprise you that I stocked up on my new favorite form of elephant items.)