A poem about butts. And tooting. But first, some throw-up.

These are my new least favorite words: Mom, I think I’m gonna throw BLURUUUUP.

That boy has a sixth sense.

He threw up in the kitchen and then in the hall on the way to the bathroom. Then he threw up one more time on my feet because he didn’t want to get the toilet all messy.

My poor little Bub! We went into his room to change clothes. “Well, that wasn’t Read More

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