Clover

For whatever reason, my little man, Captain Jake Sparrow, loves to talk to me while I am, shall we say, ‘using the facilities’.

He continues to disrespect a closed bathroom door.

He is drawn to it like a kid to a bakery that offers free cookies with sprinkles.

Today was just another in our anthology of interesting talks while I am ‘taking care of business’.

By the way, I really can’t explain why so much of this blog revolves around poop, but it just does. You keep coming back to the blog, which clearly has ‘poop’ in the title, so SUCK IT UP.

So I’m sitting there, minding my own business, with the bathroom door closed as always, when I hear the little munchkin say, “MOMMY!”.

I tried to ignore him.

I didn’t think he was bleeding or drowning or on fire.

Then I heard it again, this time accompanied with “I NEED YOUR HELP!”

I still wasn’t biting.

He was supposed to be putting his jammies on.

I continued to attempt to ignore him.

Then he opened the bathroom door and made his grand entrance.

As seems to be customary around our house, Jake was naked.

Butt naked.

Naked as a jaybird.

I said, “Yes? Can I help you?”

“I can’t find my Superman jammie shorts.”

I told him that I would help him after I was done.

He asked me, “Are you pooping?”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “Oh”.

I said, “Can you leave now?”

He said, “Um, Mommy?”

I said, “Yeah?”

He said, “Um, can we go to that Backyardigans show?”

I continued to bite. If, for no other reason, than I had a few minutes to spare, if you know what I mean.

I said, “What Backyardigans show?”

He said, “That one. That one over there.”

I said, “Jake, WHERE is the Backyardigans show?”

He said, “Across our lake.”

I said, “Across our lake, WHERE?”

He said, “Across our lake, next to Dunkin Donuts.”

NOTE TO READER: There are a thousand lakes where we live, but only one Dunkin Donuts. I assure you, the one Dunkin Donuts that we are privy to is nowhere near any lake, and it damn sure is not ACROSS our lake.

I said, “Next to Dunkin Donuts, WHERE?”

And he recapped it for me as follows: “The Backyardigans show is across OUR lake, next to Dunkin Donuts, in Clover. Can we go to it?”

“Jake, where is Clover?”

“Across OUR lake, next to Dunkin Donuts at that Backyardigans show. Can we go there?”

Again, I have absoutley no idea what he is talking about, and since I believe there is a fine line to being the greatest Mom in the history of the universe, and being legitimately locked up by the Department of Children and Families, I replied, “Sure.”

Later, I told this crazy jibberjabber of a story to my husband and daughter.

They didn’t believe me.

As most people who encounter my retelling of Jake stories, they are quite skeptical.

However I was redeemed several minutes later when Jake said, “Actually Mommy, the Backyardigans show isn’t in Clover. It’s in New Jersey.”

I asked Jake if he knew where New Jersey was.

Response: “Nope. Can I have another fruit snack?”