Jack Shit

My mother told my son, on a recent visit, that brocolli was the colon’s broom.

Thank you, mom, for attempting to get my son to eat something, by appealing to his very deep seated desire to discuss poop at the table, but somehow, this grossed even HIM out. It’s hard to out-gross a six, going on seven year old. He fully enjoys nearly every conversation that revolves around some bodily function or other; but this one, I daresay, went a tad over the top. I mean, there is a statistic I read somewhere, that grownups laugh about 13 times a day, and children, 300 times a day….the difference? 273 poop jokes.

I suppose, I can’t totally blame her; I was the one that tried to interest him in corn by telling him it’d show up the next day, and let’s have a race! See who poops out corn fastest! Or, how baked beans make you fart? (another word, by the way, I detest) It’s a sad day in Mommyhood when I resort to these sorts of tactics to interest my little guy in shoveling in something resembling a veg….other than, say, cesear salad. For the record, I’m not against cesar sald! Not in the least. I, personally, don’t want to see it everyday. And also? I’m not so sure that eating the same veggies everyday gives one the necessary nutrients generally found in the Big Gas Producers in the produce aisle.

Sure, I’ve gotten clever: I hide baby squash in mac n cheese. Like in Kraft mac n cheese. I kid you not. It works, and, it adds a rich creaminess to it that you don’t find in the Just Milk and Butter kind. I’ve tucked baby carrots into pumpkin muffins, marinara sauce, meatloaf muffins, and Halloween Mashed potatoes. But the biggies? The ones that really pack the punch? Broccoli, zucchini, peppers, mushrooms, spinach…those are not so easily hidden, and seriously, let’s face it: I’m tired of having to Be Crafty.

Spare me the whole I Force My Kid To Eat Stuff method - my son will puke on demand, and there is nothing I hate more than puke at the table. I prefer runaway flatulance, frat boy belching, and nose picking - except, I should say, for H’s friend, H, who can - I kid you not - stick his tongue up his nose. That makes ME puke. So, I suppose, to a certain degree, I’ve embraced my mother’s method (shudder, boy, I never thought I’d say THAT) and have taken on trying to entice him with the Tales of Jack Shit.

This is the corn, swept by the broccoli, that cleans out the colon, seen in the log that Jack Shit.

Here is the carrot! that brightens the corn, swept by the broccoli, that cleans out the colon, seen in the log that Jack Shit.

Yes. I have indeed, taken about forty steps backwards. Here it is, seven years into this whole parenting thing, when I spent the better part of years 2 and 3, teaching him that only certain things went into the potty, and how he should avoid staring into it, playing in it, or flushing foreign objects, like fake flowers……..and now, I’m encouraging his rabid disection of Floaters, Ghost Poop, and the ubiquitious search for Tracer Elements.

I suppose, then, it’s only fitting….and, H is right.

Mom knows Jack Shit.