Thankfulness

I had to laugh tonight as Big Brother kneeled beside his bed to say his prayers. He usually asks me to help him say his prayers. We pray for all of our family, all of his friends, our church and sometimes he throws in a few "Thank you for my toys."

Tonight he decided to go it alone. By the time I walked into his room where my husband was already listening to his deep conversation with God, this is the remainder of the prayer I overheard: "Thank you for my train and thank you for my butt. Amen."

Out of the mouths of babes. I've never heard a prayer quite like that, but I'm glad my little guy already knows he can thank God for anything, even his little bottom.

A Minute of My Life

THUD!

Baby Jaws: "WAAAAAH!"

Me: "What's going on?!"

Big Brother, running to me with a toy baseball bat: "Nothing."

Me: "Did you hit him with the bat?"

Big Brother: "No!" as Baby Jaws comes out of the bedroom rubbing his head.

Me: "Did you hit him with the bat?!" as I rip the bat out of his hands.

Big Brother: "Sorry!" while he hugs Baby Jaws and turns to run off to his room as I smack his butt with the bat.

Only 1439 minutes to go today.

Five Quote Friday

"Confidence is contagious. So is lack of confidence."
-Vince Lombardi

"Some people change their ways when they see the light; others when they feel the heat."
-Caroline Schoeder

"He who stops being better stops being good."
-Oliver Cromwell

"Sticks and stones may break our bones, but words will break our hearts."
-Robert Fulghum

"Recall it as often as you wish, a happy memory never wears out."
-Libbie Fudim

My Sweet #5

Tonight was Big Brother's last t-ball game of the season. This was his first year to play. He's learned a lot and gotten better in the past few weeks.

My #5 is not a team player quite yet. He gets upset when another one of his teammates catches the ball. He thinks he should be able to get them all. He thinks he's king of the pitcher's mound and steps in front of others and tells them, "I'm gonna get it." I tried to explain to him that they are all on the same team, but what preschooler wants to hear that? He loves hitting with the pink bat, which just thrills my husband. Even after getting his own blue t-ball bat, he prefers the pink one.

I love my little ball hog and am thankful he had the opportunity to have a lot of fun with his friends this summer. They all had a blast hitting, running, chasing down the ball, playing in the dirt, wiping chalk on their faces, eating popsicles in the dugout and getting excited over the best part of it all, the snacks after the game. My sweet #5 had a lot of fun and I had a lot of fun watching.

Sprung a Leak

Is this some sort of cruel joke? Is it what I get for saying I was going to burn my bras?

My boobs are leaking!

After a week of just fine normal boobs, I've sprung a leak. Oh, I'm not happy. I'm down to my last few nursing pads and so help me if I have to buy another box...

I guess it all boils down to this burning question that my burning boobs keep asking: there has been no one in line at the buffet for well over a week so why do I have leftovers all of a sudden?

Countdown to Vacation

Two weeks from today, we're going to the beach. We haven't been to the beach since our honeymoon six years ago. So I'm excited my boys will get to see the beach for the first time. I'm not excited about walking around in my swimsuit.

I joke about my big butt (and big everything else) all the time and searched everywhere for a swimsuit that wouldn't make me look like a beached whale. A large seal I don't mind looking like, but not a whale. I needed something to cover my big butt and hold up my big boobs. I found one this past week that is as good as it's going to get. Hopefully, I won't scare too many people, but if you happen to see a mass evacuation of the beach on the evening news in a couple of weeks, I could be the cause.

Losing More Than My Mind

I wonder if it's because I'm getting older or because my kids suck all of the memory from my brain, but strange things have been happening. When I was pregnant with both of the boys, I had some severe forgetful preggo moments. But this is getting ridiculous. I feel like I'm losing my mind.

I lost the remote again today. This is an ongoing problem at our house. My husband always gives me a hard time about it since I lose it quite often. For some reason, it usually just disappears into thin air after I've touched it. I looked for it all afternoon and finally found it lodged in the recliner, where I had already looked at least a dozen times.

Earlier this morning, after nuking some frozen Jimmy Dean sausage links for my little pork lovers, I forgot to put the bag of pig back in the freezer. It only took me a couple of hours to notice. A little more of my mind gone.

Just a couple of weeks ago, after getting some ice cream, I put the carton into the refrigerator. My husband found it after it had been thawing for some time and put it back into the freezer to bring it back to life.

I walk from one room to the other with a plan in my mind. Once I get to that other room, I've usually forgotten why I'm in there in the first place.

What is happening to me? Am I really that old? Is it just the constant chaos caused by little boys? Can I get a brain transplant? What on earth will I lose next? What was I writing about?

Five Quote Friday

I think I'm on to something here. Last Friday, I shared some of my favorite quotes. We've made it to another Friday and I'm too pooped to think once again. I've decided to share more of my favorites.

It's been quite a week. Our new church is being built this week. It's been amazing to watch all the men on their yearly mission help build it up so quickly. Just a few days ago, the only thing there was the concrete slab it would be built on. The walls went up. The bell tower went up and the bell rang for the first time at the new site after our first service Wednesday night beneath the clear blue sky. It was absolutely awesome. This morning, we watched the steeple being put in place; another awesome sight. To passersby, the church has probably seemed to appear out of nowhere. It has went up quickly thanks to all the help and thanks to God. Our God is an awesome God! Looking back, here are a few of my favorite bible verses I have been reminded of this week.

Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. Matthew 7:7

For every house is built by someone, but God is the builder of everything. Hebrews 3:4

The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous run to it and are safe. Proverbs 18:10

I thank my God every time I remember you. Philippians 1:11

Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit. Galatians 5:25

Drowning

You may find this disturbing. I find this picture hilarious, which may lead you to believe I'm a little disturbed myself.

Yesterday, we hauled out our wonderful plastic blue kiddie pool that Big Brother doesn't even fit into anymore. Baby Jaws just hates the thing, which is surprising since he will take an hour long bath. I guess a cold bath outdoors is unacceptable to him though.

Big Brother carried his bucket o' bath toys outside to dump into the pool. There were boats and balls and fish. Then there were Ernie and Elmo. Ernie and Elmo came to us in a big ship as a 1st birthday present for Big Brother. Whenever it is bath time or pool time, Ernie and Elmo are there.

I regret to inform you that yesterday, Elmo met his demise. After a couple hours of playing in the pool and then mud, I looked over to see a horrific sight. Elmo was floating face down in a giant sea of abandoned plastic boats.

At this time, we are awaiting autopsy results and a call back from Dateline. They seem to get the bottom of these 'lost at sea' mysteries quite often. I'm not sure if his boat capsized in a storm of little boy splashing. Maybe Elmo lost his footing and slipped. Perhaps Ernie pushed him overboard. Ernie was overheard saying he was tired of hearing "La la la la". We have come to the realization that we may never know the truth.

Gonna Burn My Bras

I have not had any teeth near my boobs for 5 days!

Celebrate good times, come on!

Baby Jaws is officially weaned...er, officially weaned from me. Our next hurdle is getting him off his bottle of milk he still likes to drink a couple times a day. He's going a little slower than Big Brother did, which I'm glad. Baby Jaws was down to nursing just a couple times a day over the past couple weeks, which gave my boobs the chance to slow down themselves. Big Brother, on the other hand, quit cold turkey a week before his 1st birthday and traumatized my poor boobs. I felt like I was walking around with a couple of weather balloons on my chest spewing out more liquid per second than Niagara Falls.

Today was the first time I didn't wear nursing pads in over a year. Just to be daring, I went out in public. I didn't spring a leak. Those days are now behind me. I feel so free. I'm now looking forward to shopping for real bras and getting rid of these contraptions I've had to use the past year to keep my milk bombs contained. It's a celebration!

Kiss Me If You Want To Feel...

So this morning as soon as my husband kissed me good-bye, I felt something on my face about the exact time he said, "What is that?"

Any answer to that question could not have been good. What was bulging out of my face and was so gigantic that even my husband felt it? What else? A zit!

If we both felt it, you know that's one huge zit. Have you ever in your life not noticed a zit until someone kissed you and found it themselves first? How disgusting is that?

I don't get them very often, but I hate zits. Zits rate right up there with boogers on top of my list of bodily blobs I could live without. Yes, just in case you're wondering, I have a list of bodily blobs. And I became aware a long time ago that the more children I have, the longer that list grows.

Wheel of Fortune

My 3 year old loves watching Wheel of Fortune. He gets excited when a contestant chooses a "C" since that's the letter his name begins with. I don't remember when it started, but every time Pat says it's time for a toss-up and the music begins, my son starts yelling, "Fartknocker!"

It is quite funny most of the time. My parents thought it was hilarious the first time my son said it at their house while watching Wheel. They asked where he’d heard it. I had to tell them he picked it up from his biggest role model. My "watched way too much Beavis and Butthead in the 90's" husband taught him to say it. I'm proud to say this is one word he did not learn from me.

It is cute and funny for now and in the privacy of our own home. The only fear I have is that one day, when Pat and Vanna are hosting the show in their 70's, my son will make it on during College Week only to yell out "Fartknocker" at the first toss-up.

My Favorite Collection

I love collecting quotes. I have books, notebooks and even computer files filled with them. I thought this would be the perfect day to share a few of my favorites since I had all the energy sucked right out of me after chasing two little boys today.

"Some of us are like wheelbarrows-only useful when pushed and very easily upset."
-Jack Herbert

"Do not look where you fell, but where you slipped."
-African proverb

"Love is not blind-it sees more, not less. But because it sees more, it is willing to see less."
-Julius Gordon

"People do not attract that which they want, but that which they are."
-James Allen

"The events in our lives happen in a sequence in time, but in their significance to ourselves, they find their own order."
-Eudora Welty

"Some cause happiness wherever they go. Others, whenever they go."
-Oscar Wilde

"Never let a fool kiss you or a kiss fool you."
-Joey Adams

"Never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be."
-Clementine Paddleford

"We are always getting ready to live, but never living."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

This is Your Cap'N Speaking...

And he's saying what a crock of crap this is.

If you know me well enough, you know there are many things that irritate me. Some things irritate me more than others. One subject that is in my personal 'Top 10 List of Most Irritating Things' is idiotic (or just greedy) people filing stupid lawsuits.

If you haven't heard already, a woman actually filed a lawsuit against the manufacturer of Cap'n Crunch Crunchberries because the berries aren't made of real fruit. Apparently, after four years of eating them, she just recently figured this out.

Are you kidding me? What is wrong with people? Do you not have anything better to do with your life? Are you so starved for attention that you have to make up some half-witted claim against a company that you're hoping to take to the bank?

I know if I bought this particular cereal, my 3 year old could tell that the berries are not real fruit. And despite any claim otherwise, Cap'n Crunch isn't a real captain either. He doesn't sail the high seas searching for new lands to cultivate crunchberries. He's not real. What type of person cannot determine this on their own?

There is a side of this that makes sense to these people. Maybe they're onto something. I'm now thinking if I ever get really greedy myself, I can start filing lawsuits. I'd probably start with Dr. Pepper. Not one single speck of pepper in that can? That's false advertising. I'd then move on to Mt. Dew. There is not one drop of fresh morning dew in it. And I'd most definitely go after Bear Naked cereals. Not one bear was harmed in the making of this bag o' breakfast. Now I just need to come up with a dollar amount that will cover my pain and suffering caused by not being able to eat a real bear in my bowl of cereal.

Maybe

Big Brother has become interested in talking about dying. He's obsessed with hunting and talks about shooting animals with his bow all the time. Then he talks about the animals dying. But lately, he has begun talking of people dying.

He's really only known two people who have died. His grandpa and great-grandpa (Gramps as he calls him). He still talks about Gramps a lot as if he's still here, but also knows that he died. It amazes me that he even remembers. He was barely 2 years old when that happened, but he remembers. This morning, he was telling me that when people get sick they die. I tried to explain to him that it's only when people are really sick or really old that they die. He asked me where you go when you die, so we had the heaven conversation since that's what we believe.

I guess what shocks me the most is he's been talking for a few weeks about his big brother. He makes up stories about him all the time. The only thing is, he doesn't have a big brother. He has one little brother and two big step-sisters. So this morning as he was talking about dying, he said that his big brother had died. I began wondering if he has a sixth sense about him. I've been wondering that for awhile. Let me explain.

I had a miscarriage a few months before I got pregnant with Big Brother. We have never mentioned it to him. I don't think he would understand and I don't really see the need to even try to explain it to him. I just find it a little comforting that he says he has a big brother. Maybe somehow he knows that there was a baby before him and maybe that baby was a little boy. He certainly doesn't explain it like that, but maybe.

The other reason I think he may have a sixth sense about his siblings is because of something that happened while I was pregnant with Baby Jaws. I will never forget the weekend of Thanksgiving. Big Brother, who was 2 at the time, jumped up on our bed one morning after waking up. He was loving on Mommy and Daddy and talking about Baby Brother still in my belly. He turned and said, "Baby Brother is sick." I will never forget him saying that because it completely freaked me out. I immediately had a worried feeling, but then explained to him that Baby Brother was just fine.

Fast forward to the next weekend. I had some problems out of nowhere that Saturday night and had to go to the emergency room. I was so worried that my baby was already gone. I couldn't help but think what Big Brother had said to me the week before. Maybe Baby Brother was sick and he somehow knew. It was the strangest feeling to think maybe my boys had been talking to each other somehow. Thankfully, we found out Baby Brother was just fine after a night at the emergency room.

I don't know what to think about it all. I do know that Big Brother has watched over his little brother from the beginning and I highly doubt that will ever change. Maybe, just maybe, they both have a big brother in heaven watching over them too.

Peanut Butt

Baby Jaws went for his 12 month checkup this morning. I always get a call from the office the day before to confirm the appointment. This time, there was no call. I found it odd, but double checked my appointment card and sure enough, today was the day. When I arrived, they had no appointment in their computers for Baby Jaws. I whipped out my appointment card like it was my ticket to get in and was ready to put up a fight if they doctor couldn't see him today. We got in, but not before I had to update paperwork while balancing Baby Jaws on my lap. That takes talent.

In the waiting room, there was a little boy (maybe 2 years old) having one heck of a tantrum. He made my 3 year old look like an amateur. He screamed the entire time he was there. He was still screaming when we went back to the exam room. He screamed the entire time the nurse and doctor saw him. He screamed on the way out the door. Here's where I got a bit haughty. I had a smirk on my face as I looked on my two good little boys (for the moment). My child wasn't the tantrum creator for once.

I knew this was all too good to be true. I knew he had something up his sleeve. After the doctor had been examining Baby Jaws for a few minutes and asking questions about him, she asked if he was trying a lot of new foods. I told her he had even eaten a peanut one day before I could pry it away from him. At that, Big Brother yelled, "I pulled a peanut out of my butt!" All of my thoughts of my good little boy went right out the window.

I gave him the dirtiest look while yelling his full name, so he knew he was in trouble. The doctor laughed and said she didn't understand why boys thought saying things like that were so funny. She went on to say her girls never had the desire to talk like that, but her boys did it every chance they could get. If she only knew some of the things that have come out of his mouth.

It's apparently a boy thing. Boys think butts are funny. Grown men think butts are funny. I have to admit, I even think butts are funny at times. However, I do not think it's funny to yell about them at the doctor's office. But I'd take peanuts in butts over a tantrum any day.

I'll Drink To That

I'm a self-proclaimed Pepsi drunk. I truly believe that is the main reason my butt is as big as it is. I cannot stop drinking it. I've tried. Oh, how I've tried. It's not that Pepsi is all I drink. I drink a lot of water too, but this stuff is so addictive and oh so good.

While I was pregnant with Big Brother, I was the good mommy, trying to keep my baby healthy. I stopped drinking Pepsi and switched to caffeine free sodas. That worked pretty well. I was very conscious about the caffeine while pregnant, although I ate my weight in Dominos pizza and double cheeseburgers from McDonalds at the time.

While I was pregnant with Baby Jaws, I didn't even try to quit the caffeine. I most certainly wanted this baby to be healthy too, but I was addicted. That poor child was hopped up on Pepsi from the beginning. That may be why he always looked like he was dancing in his ultrasounds.

I pour myself a glass of Pepsi every morning. Don't judge me. You probably have coffee. Pepsi is just my caffeine of choice. My son will see it and ask what I'm drinking. I don't know how many times I've told him I shouldn't be drinking it at all. So now, when he sees me with a glass, he tells me, “You shouldn't drink that.” I feel bad and agree, but can't even put it down after being hassled by the Preschool Pepsi Police.

If only there were a little pill I could take to stop my Pepsi cravings, but maybe that's not the greatest of ideas. We all know how good I am at taking pills. I'll just have to keep trying to wean myself off of it. Baby Jaws is almost weaned. We could do it together. He can go through boob withdrawl while I wrestle with Pepsi withdrawl. Who will be the crankiest? We shall see as I raise a glass of Pepsi in a toast, “To no more Pepsi!”

One Day

Who would have thought becoming a grown-up and having kids would mean I would never get to do grown-up things anymore? I'm having one of those days.

But all I'm wanting is one day. I want to drop off the boys with someone. I want someone else to change Baby Jaw's diapers. I want someone else to listen to Big Brother throw a tantrum. I want someone else to feed them, bathe them and put them to bed.

I want to eat at a restaurant where they don't serve meals in a box with the latest movie character on the side. I want to eat where I don't have to open a ketchup packet. I want to eat where there are no crayons included with the appetizers. I want to eat out and not bring home a cheap toy. I want to go out and not have to tote a 10lb diaper bag over my shoulder.

I want be able to finish a meal without having to wipe juice or milk up off the floor. I want to be able to walk through my house without fear of breaking my neck while maneuvering around all the toys. I want to have a conversation on the phone without having to run to another room and lock the door just to hear the person on the other end.

I want to be able to use the bathroom without someone crying on the other side of the door or screaming, "I'm 'bout to pee my pants!" I want to take a bath without plastic boats and fish falling into the tub on top of me.

I want to go to sleep for one night and sleep all night. I want sleep in for one morning. I want to wake up all on my own. I want to watch the morning news and not PBS Kids.

One day soon, I'll get to do all of these things. But for now, Baby Jaws is crying. There are crumbs from dinner all over the floor. I cannot see the floor for the toys. Big Brother is wanting to go outside and play. Rooms need to be cleaned. Kids need to be bathed. Dishes need to be washed.

One of these days...I'll miss the screaming outside the bathroom, the messes under the table, the crying when I awake, the arguing over toys, the Happy Meals at the restaurant, the crumbs all over the floor.... but today is not that day.

Watch Your Mouth

Oh be careful little lips what you say because 3 year olds repeat everything.

Big Brother has repeated many a word or phrase that he has picked up from myself, my husband, grandparents, friends or even television. Depending upon the word or phrase he chooses, the reaction he gets from us can range anywhere from laughter to big trouble.

His vocabulary contains the normal words that make every little boy giggle (words that also make a grown man laugh at our house). He speaks of farts, poop, butt cracks, wieners, and boobs almost on a daily basis. He also says 'crap' from time to time; a word he learned from me.

My son drives me crazy almost every night at bedtime. He brushes his teeth, pees, says good-night to Daddy and Baby Jaws, says his prayers and should be ready to sleep. But as soon as I go to tell him good-night myself, he turns into a little giggling ball of energy. It's as if he just had his batteries replaced.

Last night as he was getting ready for bed, he learned yet another phrase from me; not really a phrase I'm proud of him repeating, but stuff happens. Sometimes I just say things I should not say and he always seems to be right there when I do.

I just wanted him to go to bed, but he started his giggling and running around until I yelled, "It's bedtime! We don't screw around at bedtime!"

My very intelligent 3 year old looked me square in the eyes and in the most serious voice said, "We screw around in the daytime."

All I could do was laugh and think he's right. Of course, if you can't screw around at bedtime, you must be able to screw around in the daytime. What other time is there?

Spork

My husband is about as opposite as I can get from myself. He's laid back pretty much all the time. I'm uptight more often than not. It takes a lot to make my husband mad. If you look at me crooked or even breathe wrong, it will usually set me off. He has so much patience with just about everyone and everything. I don't know the meaning of the word. He's easy going and calm. I'm anxious and demanding.

These attributes my husband has are worth mentioning before I go on to tell you of the one circumstance that will turn him into a crazed maniac. If by chance we stop at a fast food restaurant (as we did on Memorial Day Weekend) and he needs a utensil to eat his meal with, I have come to pity the fool employee that hands my husband a spork.

I have never in my life seen someone have so much animosity against a utensil. I should shut my mouth right there because he will tell you it's not a utensil at all. In his mind, a spork is not a means to transfer food into your mouth. It is the freakish offspring of a fork and spoon that should be destroyed at all costs.

The majority of the time, after he tosses it onto the counter in a huff saying, "This isn't a fork," the employee can usually find a fork to satisfy him. On this day however, we weren't so lucky. The only way my husband would be able to get his taco salad into his mouth would be by spork. Oh the humanity.

During the entire meal, all I heard were random grumblings about sporks. "This is not a fork. All the Taco Bells at home have forks, why doesn't this one? You just can't eat with one of these things." I sat there mesmerized and amused, watching my frustrated husband eat with this poor little plastic gadget. This is the one thing that causes him to become extremely irritated; he was, for once, acting like me.

It wasn't the spork's fault that it didn't live up to such high expectations. It had a job to do and it did it, much to my husband's dismay. That spork fed him just as fine as any fork ever could have and did not make that taco salad taste any less pleasing.

But that poor little spork suffered verbal abuse with each bite and in the end had nothing to show for it. It ended up tossed into the garbage, a good riddance from my husband. I have a feeling that poor little spork would have liked to have had a second chance to be used by someone who appreciates a good spork every now and then; or at least the chance to go tell all of it's spork friends still under the counter to watch out for the crazed spork hater.

Mr. Clean's Adversary

I've come to a disgusting conclusion that I need a maid. This is not going to happen, but I can dream. I realized this as I was cleaning Baby Jaw's booster seat after breakfast this morning. It was as if I had stumbled upon a food graveyard. I found stale goldfish crackers, petrified cheerios and a dried up piece of grilled chicken we had for dinner last night. Sad to say, I also found a fork wedged between the back of the booster seat and the chair. As I said, it's disgusting.

I admit my house is not clean at all times. The cleanliness rating depends upon the day of the week, time of day or if I know company is coming. On a normal day, if you came to my house, you would not be able to see an inch of my tabletop. It could be covered with anything; bills, crayons, library books, cell phones, sippy cups, newspaper, play dough or the pile of things my husband pulls out of his pockets each night when he walks in the door.

There are cobwebs in every corner. Baby Jaws drools fresh slobbers on the door every chance he gets while Big Brother adds his fingerprints to the work of art . My feet stick to a different spot on the floor each day. There is usually a lone Cheerio or Froot Loop hiding under the table. You probably wouldn't want to eat off of my floor, but my kids don't mind. If Baby Jaws spots one of those deserted Cheerios, it's down the hatch before I can unstick myself from the floor to pry it out of his little hands.

I would like to have a clean house, but I'm not holding my breath. It's just one more thing I attempt to accomplish on a daily basis, but can never quite come out on top.

And frankly, I would probably be quite irritated if I came to your house and it was spotless. It would make me feel bad and ashamed of my own little pig sty. Anyway, I cannot stand seeing these perfect little families in magazines; with perfectly behaved kids playing in their white outfits on white couches sitting atop white carpet. Please! I had a brown stain on my couch after Easter that I prayed was just the remains of a chocolate bunny.

My home is far from spotless. But for everyone living in it or just visiting, I hope it is happy, fun, and full of love. It is all those things to me plus sticky, dusty, cluttered….I could go on and on, but it's time for me to go clean.

Purple Booger

Just when I think my 3 year old has done it all, he pulls something else out of his hat. He was threatened that he had better behave before we left for church last night, which stemmed from the fiasco at church earlier that morning. There's always a fiasco at church with him. But last night, he was being good. For a moment, I wondered if I had brought someone else's child with me. I was actually able to listen to the message for the first time in weeks. This, of course, was too good to be true.

My seemingly good little boy knew I had brought a snack for him and asked for it. I opened the package of Yogos and he morphed into good little snacking boy. He sat there quietly eating them one by one. He would pick one up every few bites and offer it to me. I told him, "Thank you, but you go ahead and eat them." 'Eat' being the key word.

After a few more minutes and a few more bites, I turned to see if he was finished with his snack only to find him picking his nose. As I was quietly telling him not to pick his nose, it was then I realized why he was picking his nose. I must say it was a little shocking to see a little round purple booger embedded in his right nostril. Again, I blurted out my mommy catch phrase, "Are you kidding me child?" as I dragged him into the bathroom, praying I wouldn't end up in the emergency room admiring an x-ray of his skull with a Yogo lodged inside.

My prayers were answered because I was able to pop that little purple booger right out of his nose. I asked what on earth had possessed him to do such a thing and received the universal kid catch phrase, "I don't know."

I am glad that it was a purple Yogo though and not a green one. A green one could have camouflaged itself as a real booger and I wouldn't have been nearly as concerned.