A Few Of My Favorite Stories

I was thinking that I wanted to record some of my favorite stories. This seems like a good place to do it. As some of them aren't really John or I, they won't fit in our John & Renae blog, so here are a few for starters. (I can't possibly put them all down at once, so I'll do it more later).

Mommy Tooted:

When Lydia was about 1 1/2 - 2 years old (she had the most amazing vocabulary really early on) I was shopping at Walmart with her. I was pregnant with Ross, and as pregnant women tend to get, I was ... well a bit gassy. Okay, there I said it. Yes, I passed gas in a crowded aisle in Walmart, but I really couldn't help it. Go ahead, say I'm disgusting and you never want to be around me again. I'm sorry! Anyway, apparently Lydia noticed. She started yelling at the top of her lungs "MOMMY TOOTED! MOMMY TOOTED!" over and over and over again. I was rather embarrassed.

Lydia Nearly Ruins The Ward Christmas Party For Someone:

Fast forward to when Lydia was about 2 1/2. She was mostly potty trained. All but an occasional accident. I took Lydia and Ross with me to homemaking meeting at church. As the next night was the ward Christmas party, we just left the up the tables that we had used in the gym. When I got home, I was getting the children ready for bed and I noticed that Lydia had poop marks in her panties. After some prying, I got it out of her that she had crawled under one of the tables is the gym, done her business, and then emptied the contents onto the floor under the table. Eeuw gross! I was picturing someone putting their unexpectant foot into it the next night at the Christmas party. Lucky for me (not so much for Mom) my mother is the janitor at the ward building, and she usually cleans on Fridays. I called her and asked her to check under the tables the next day. Sure enough, grandma got to clean up the mess.

One more:

I was pregnant (boy, I do spend a lot of my time that way!) with Lydia. We were at a family gathering at Bruce's grandparents' house. His whole family was rather crammed into a smallish area. Grandma Imogene (really a wonderful, but alas, sometimes a bit tactless woman- I do really think she's great!) comes up to me. She lifts my arms and examines my chest. "My, your breasts are getting bigger!" Yelling across the room- "Hey Marilou, aren't her breasts getting bigger!" Thank you grandma, I needed that. I makes a good story though.