After two consecutive days eating chili for supper, the house has become a large, brick & siding disguised gas chamber. Upon entering the boys bedroom this morning, I was knocked back by the sickly aroma of black beans, onions, and beef that have been processed by toddlers digestive systems. As if to corroborate the assumption I had made in regards to the noxious fumes, Troy announced that he had "Tinky Parts". If you do not speak Troyesse already, I will translate for you. It means "Stinky Farts". Stinky Farts was not all that the lingering aroma implied, It was in fact, bean shits. I located the wipes, and a crap saddle, sat on the floor and waited. Troy waddled down the hall, in his movements appearing as though he had a coconut clenched between his knees. I knew at that moment what I was in for. He laid down on his back in front of me, raised his legs straight up, grimacing as he did, and said one word. "EWWW." I'll let the imagination take it from there, sparing you the gory details. Lets just say that I deserve a spotlight on "Dirty Jobs".
Fast forward to breakfast, which of all words, Damon still can not properly pronounce- it still comes out "Brickswift". But he can pronounce words like Discombobulated without falter, go figure. They are seated at the table with their corn chex & soy milk, when all of a sudden, I hear a thunderous roar. Almost as loud as our inconsiderate neighbor with the excessively large, gas guzzling, swamp trolling pickup. I look around, Damon is smiling. Troy is too. No one admits to being the originator of the cloud of green haze that now hovers around the light fixture in the dining room... it is a conspiracy.
After "Brickswift" I sent them to their room to pickup the matchbox cars, reserving the right to fresh air, I did not enter. Not until Damon politely requested that I open their window, and turn the fan on to remove the farts, which brought into question whether or not DHEC would deem the room uninhabitable for humans. I opened the window.
After "cleaning" his room, Damon requested some celery sticks with ranch, so we migrated again to the kitchen to obtain said snack. While cleaning the celery, and trying to locate the special plate (which I can not for the life of me, understand why it is so special, aside from the small chip on the edge, which he always points away from himself) which I was unable to do, and was tempted to turn another plate into a "special" plate (see above description of special plate) to end the whining, we finally agreed on a new plate, and called it special. Standing next to the refrigerator, Damon asks me what is for supper, and if we had any tuna. I told him we did not, but offered fishy cakes as an alternative. He willingly accepted my offer of little salmon cakes with dill and lime, only then telling me that he did not want any more chili. Nor did he want any more chili mac. "See Mommy" he said "The Mac is ok, it doesn't make me have farts. But I don't want anymore chili, because it makes me have stinky farts, and bean poop." So I told him, desperately trying to maintain my composure, that "We're not going to have any more chili for a while." With Relief in his eyes, he says "Good, Troy's farts stink a lot!" At which point Troy, who has been standing silently by, watching and listening, lets go of a massive amount of gas from his overly pressurized bowels- Giggling hysterically he yells "Tinky Parts!!" and runs down the hall.
The Chili is almost gone, maybe I can finish it for lunch. I will not be making any more for a significantly long period of time. The Troops have been compliant so far, but I fear that the ongoing presence of Chili as a menu item, will cause a civil war. That, and I think my farts are stinkier.