Most mornings as V and I head downstairs to start our day, we sit down at the top of the stairs, hold hands and slide down on our butts. We have an old, old house and the stairs are incredibly steep, so sliding down on our rear ends is quite fun!

This morning for whatever reason V decided he wanted to be carried down. I picked him up, placed him on my left hip as he wrapped his skinny little legs around me tightly. About half way down the stairs, he burried his nose in my hair and proclaimed “Your hair smells like shit!”

“What did you just say?”

“Your hair smells like shit!”

Shit, shit, shit. What rhymes with shit?
“Ship?” I ask him. “Like in the water?”

“No! Shit! It smells like shit!”


“Like yellow shits! With salsa!”

“Oh! You mean CHIPS?”

“Yea! Your hair smells like chips, mama!”