Hey there, dearest BFFs (Blessed Friends Forever) – this is part 2 of the excerpt from my book, Too Blessed to be Stressed for Moms, that I started posting last week. Hope it gives you the same chuckle break it gave me! (Scroll back to review the first half if you’ve forgotten!) Hugs!
They’re Not Crow’s-Feet; They’re Chuckle Crinkles
(c) 2018 Debora M. Coty
(continued from last week’s post)
Face it, mom-friend, hassles and harassment are inherent to the harried ‘hood. The motherhood.
A good example is the time I secured my three-day-old newborn in the automatic baby swing so I could make dinner. The swing was in a short, narrow hallway beside the kitchen so I’d have full view of my brand-new bundle of joy while I cooked.
I was sorting through recipes when a strange squish-squashy sound assaulted my ears. I glanced up and was riveted by the mesmerizing spectacle of green-black baby diarrhea rhythmically slinging from my darling’s diaper straight up the wall in front of him – splat – and then up the wall behind him with every pendulum swing. Splat. Splat. Splat. Splat.
It was a Tough Mudder’s nightmare. Only smellier. Speaking of mud (or at leas dark, sticky substances), just yesterday my almost-2-year-old grandbuddy Breydon observed his six-year-old brother squirreling away a chocolate kiss from my forbidden candy dish into his front pants pocket. So Brey proceeded to stuff as many chocolate kisses his chubby little fist could hold into his pocket too.
Only his pocket turned out to be his diaper.
Then he toddled outside on a scorching Florida summer afternoon. Wanna guess the ending? Yep – that’s when Brey learned to amble bowlegged like a cowpoke who’d straddled his faithful steed too long. Then he toddled into the kitchen, plunked down in numerous places, and proceeded to smear melted chocolate blobs all over the floor. At least I hoped it was only chocolate. I was inspired to compose this little ditty sung to the tune of “Three Blind Mice”:
Chunks
By Debora M. Coty, lyricist extraordinaire
Chunks, chunks, chunks;
I’m standing in the chunks.
Chunks, chunks, chunks;
everywhere there’s chunks …
Bananas and chocolate and pizza hunks,
they’re gooey and sticky and oh so plump;
Can’t tell if they’re from Junior’s mouth or his rump,
These chunks, chunks, chunks.
Okay, dear BFFs, whether you’re a mom, grandmom, aunty, or babysitter, go ahead and let ‘er rip – belt out a rousing chorus of “Chunks, Chunks, Chunks” with me and soon you’ll be singing it in the shower and pacing yourself with it on your daily mile.
Wait – take a moment before you go and share with your laugh-loving community of BFFs one of your favorite chuckle-crinkle stories from your little piece of the world. We’d love to hear it! Keep smiling, my friend.