How raisins are a waste of money.

Disclaimer: Those who are squeamish and easily offended by poo stories, you may want to skip this one. consider yourselves warned.

Bath time is always fun for Elijah. The other night was no exception. I got him all squeaky clean, and we were splashing our way through a rousing game of name-that-bathtub-item (ie: duck, soap, submarine, cup... you get the idea) when my sweet sweet boy leaned forward and... er... tooted. Bubbles. Hill-billy hot tub. Redneck jacuzzi. We're talking a big giant man fart, if you will. (and you probably will) Oh yeah, and he laughed. What is it with boys and their fascination with their own bodily noises? sheesh.

Then that adorable face scrunches up and he says "poop". [leaning forward in the tub]

"Honey do you need to sit on the..." [grabbing slippery baby by armpits]

"Poop." [grunts. face reddens.]

Boom. And he let 'er rip! a volcano.

Ever the quick-thinking mommy, I whisked him out of the water before a second bath was necessary, and held his wriggling wet body above the potty faster than you can say "are you freaking kidding me?". But it was too late. The damage had been done.

As luck would have it, he had raisins for lunch earlier that day, so imagine my delight to discover he neither chews them nor digests them in any way. What I would have given for one solid turd. Nope, what I got was a tub full of poo particles.

And between dry heaves and the throes of hysterical laughter, I managed to scoop it all up and dump it in the potty, where it should have gone in the first place.

And thus began my love affair with fresh linen scented Clorox.