Poop

Yes, I'm going there, for posterity's sake (posteriority's sake?) - you've been warned.

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So I was doing some, well, intensive thinking in my favorite room for meditation - my closet (in all fairness, my water closet). Baby Jack was pulling up on the tub and chattering excitedly. Then in waltzes the yellow-haired child, who, lest you raise eyebrows, is not supposed to be in the Prayer Closet at the same time that Daddy is, you know, meditating. She looks at the baby and then looks at me and asks, with potential disdain about her eyes, "Does Baby Jack like the smell of your poop?"

I said, "I suppose he doesn't mind it."

She said, "I wish I was [sic] Baby Jack," and then walked out of the room.