It's my 100th post!!
Can I get a whoot, whoot?
C'mon! Don't be a party pooper.
Thank you very much.
Now, some people may have fantabulous giveaways for their readers for their 100th post. Some people may wax poetic and write a love sonnet to their blog.
Alas, I'll be doing neither today. I'm feeling quite prosaic and I have nothing to give away except a few broken oatmeal butterscotch cookies. Not really celebratory enough in my mind, even if they are incredibly yummy.
Instead, today I'm going to do something that I do so well. I'm going to tattle on myself, laughing all the way.
About two years ago, Bubba had just turned three and Mama had decided that it was now time for him to use the throne. (You know the one.) I had just gotten pregnant with Ju-Ju and Ya-Ya was almost two and I did. not. need. three. children. in. diapers.
It was going pretty well until one bright morning when I made a terrible discovery on his bedroom carpet. There in front of his bed was a perfect circle of wetness.
Note to the readers: I was struggling through morning sickness at this time. Don't judge me.
The frustration level went immediately sky high. No warning, no gradual increase. Nope. It was instant irritability.
"What is that?" I said with my index finger pointed fiercely at the offending spot.
Bubba replies quite casually, "Oh, Darth Vader did that."
Another note if you will: He was going through a stage where Star Wars was the epitome of coolness. No, I should rephrase this. Darth Vader was the epitome of coolness. In fact, he was to the point of insisting that we call him that rather than his beautiful name. I was very worried. The worry only increased when I realized my not quite two-year-old was humming Darth Vader's march non-stop. She didn't even know Jesus Loves Me, yet.
My reply, "Darth Vader? Darth Vader did not do that. Bubba did that."
"No, Mama. Darth Vader did that."
This exchange went back and forth for several minutes before I finally came to the end of my patience.
"Darth Vader DID NOT do that! Your name is NOT Darth Vader. Your name is Bubba."
"No, Mama. I promise Darth Vader did that."
I'm pretty sure I was just about to keel over from a heart attack. Luckily, Gi-Gi walked in right then.
"What's the matter, Mama?"
"Bubba is saying that Darth Vader made that wet spot on the floor right there."
"Yeah, he did. Darth Vader did that" was her reply.
OH. MY. WORD. She's doing it too. This pregnancy was draining me of my mental capabilities rapidly.
"HIS NAME IS NOT DARTH VADER!!"
And then in one of the funny little shows of God's humor, I realized. Darth Vader had done it.
As in Darth Vader the squeezable bath toy. He had had an "accident" on the bedroom floor when Bubba brought him in the bedroom from the bath tub.
I'm pretty sure the neighbors were considering calling the asylum after hearing the uncontrollable hysterical laughter coming from our house. And I don't think my husband couldn't even understand what I was saying through the gasps of air I was trying to get into my lungs between the laughing fits.
I'm telling you, I laughed for months after that.
In fact, I'm still laughing right now.
Here's to another 100 posts!