This morning as I was juggling my million things I have to carry in one trip from the house to the car, because we are always late getting off to school, Mozely says, “What is this?” and picks up a dead frog.
Let me say that again. He picks up a DEAD. FROG. Peels it right off the road.
I immediately quit juggling my million things and say, “Ew! Ew! Gross! Don’t touch that! Drop it drop it drop it drop it!” while flapping my arms in the international hand sign for “drop that nasty thing right this instant,” emphasized by the dance of the feet named “I’m freaking out because you are touching a dead frog” but he just stands there, and in all truth I do not want to touch him (dead frog germs!) and I don’t want to grab the frog away from him (dead frog germs!).
He looks at me in alarm and says, “What is it? Ew? Is it poop? Is it poop? Ewwww, poop!”
After he finally drops it, I wipe his hands. He asks me again, “Was it poop, Mommy? Ew, gross. Don’t touch that.”
Blessed be the name of the person who invented the wet wipe. Amen and hallelujah.