Captain Toilet and Mr. Poopy

My boys decided they wanted to be super heroes. Since they are two and four, I figure this is yet another phase that will fizzle out soon. I get to make fun of them, I get lots of pictures, and I get some good black male material for their teenage years. It's all good. In my mind it's a good excuse for the jumping off of furniture onto a carefully constructed pile of my foofy pillows, and body surfing their skateboard through the house. I mean, all super heroes need their practice, right? Then I asked them what they were going to call themselves. Every "super hero" needs a name. That is when I was introduced to Captain Toilet and Mr. Poopy. This came as no surprise to me. It was also no surprise that Lucas named himself Captain Toilet, and demoted Nicholas to Mr. Poopy. The little brotha can't catch a break.

Why did this come as no surprise to me, you ask? Because every reference to every moment in time, and every event - including every breath of air - begins with some form of potty talk. They eat "poop cereal", they drink "pootie pootie milk", they want "stinky-butt pancakes" for breakfast, they call each other "booty head", they burp at the table, they fart in public. They are disgusting. It all started with their father and the infamous "pull my finger" routine. There is enough gas in our house to start an automobile. And, I blame him completely.