WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT

Be warned: this post contains WAY too much information. If you are not a fan of potty humor - and I, for the record, am NOT - then, you might sit this entry out. I just want to record it, because I think the boys (being BOYS, and all) will get a "big, giant" kick out of it the bigger they get, so here you have the story of this one week that the boys both had a stomach bug.

It started last week - I think I was first, having a single bout, and then Jeremy did. Then, when the boys and I got to Mom's last week, Jones had diarrhea, telling me he'd gone stinky and that "there was mud in it." That was Wednesday, I think, and, though Freddie had had about an episode a day, since Thursday, Jones hadn't had any more after that initial time.

So Jeremy and I decided I'd take Jones to church on Sunday, and he'd stay home with Freddie. Neither of the boys had had ANY symptoms (except for the obvious); there'd been no fevers, no slips in appetite, just a time or two a day when Freddie'd have tummy troubles.

Then came Sunday morning. When I went in to get Jones up, he was sitting near the foot of his bed. He told me "my throat hurt, and I had a big giant cough," and then he gestured to the vomit in the place where his pillow should be. True to form, his next question was, "Can you wash my sheets in the room by the den?"

That'd be the laundry room, Son, and sure, I can.

At what point he'd thrown up overnite (or maybe he threw up first thing Sunday?), I have no idea. I
DO know, though, that neither Jeremy nor I had ANY idea that it'd happened until first thing Sunday morning. Poor buddy! He handled it great - wasn't whiny or wimpy. Just told me about his "big, giant cough" and asked me to wash his sheets.

Obviously, church for ANY of us was suddenly out of the question.

About 10 AM, I was laying in the bathtub when Jones BOLTED in. To put it delicately he got about a foot away from the potty when he couldn't go any further. He looked at the brown puddle by his feet. "There's mud," he told me. I laughed and said, "Sit on the potty, in case there's any more mud in your tiny hiney."

So he did.

He then proceeded to make sounds the likes of which I've never heard come forth from his father. It was UN.REAL. We laughed together, and Jones said, "I say, 'ththeshthehshthtshtst.' It was like a trumpet." Then he did it again. This time, he said, "That's a trumpet, real loud from my tiny hiney."

I thought it was the funniest thing I'd ever heard, so I immediately wrote it down.

Anyway.

Neither Jones nor Freddie had any more episodes after Monday morning ... until today. Jones was sitting on the potty, and I was sitting on a stool opposite him. When he again made those same sorts of  sounds from Sunday, he said, "What was that?" I didn't answer. He said, "Dat 'nother trumpet?" "That WAS another trumpet," I said. "Dat hiney trumpet?" he asked. "A hiney trumpet," I confirmed. He repeated, "a hiney trumpet;" as he did, it's as if he were affirming that, from this point on, what was once considered a "toot" in the Jeremy Pressley family will, from here on out, be labeled a "hiney trumpet."

THAT's why I had to record this story, no matter how completely and totally crass it is. I know a pair of future middle schoolers who are gonna want to hear this one again and again.