...or maybe to smell with.

Do you know why God gave us noses?"

Jack asks his grandma.

“No, why?” She answers.

“So we can talk funny like this.

[plugs his nose and hums]

...and so we can pick our noses!"

I love trash

Dear Austin,

Congrats. Eight years of marriage, nine moves, two dogs, two big brothers and Aunt Hannah couldn't do what you did --force us to buy a heavy duty trash can.

We've made do with the sturdy Rubbermaid just fine until you came along. Daddy returned from deployment, observed your behavior for a few days and declared: We need to get another trash can, a heavy one, with a lid.

End of story... at least for the Rubbermaid.

Guess Dad didn't like the idea of you pushing it around the room like a shopping cart, or maybe he didn't like you digging around in there for a snack. Could have been the knocking it over, but I'm pretty sure he'd had enough when he saw you eating the trash bag.

I know, you miss the old one. But we wouldn't have bought this one if it hadn't been necessary for your health. By the way, you owe us $68. I'll put it on your tab.

Return date: April 1

Tell me, what could have been more perfect than this? Mike arriving home on April fools day which happens to be my second favorite holiday. I just couldn't let this opportunity pass by:

Can you tell what his reaction to the news was?

Ten year old girls

have it right.

Boys are gross.

Gross.

Nasty.

Eww.

Don't believe it?

Then you've never sat down on the toilet in YOUR bathroom and realized the seat is wet.

You've never (while on the same toilet) looked over at your toilet paper roll and observed that it had been not-so-carefully rerolled and when you start pulling some off notice that it has already been used.

Finding TP with poop on it ... in your bathroom ...on your toilet paper roll = GROSS

Boys are born with the need to do gross things.

Even as newborns baby boys try to pee on you as soon as their diaper comes off.

Today my baby boy waited till dinner was ready and on the table before he made it known that he had dirty pants. So I change him, and eat a cold chicken fried steak.

Today I had to tell my second born to get a fork out of his nose.

The response I got after telling one of them to stop picking his nose: "But I love eating my boogers they taste yummy!"

Today I about hit the fan.

I pulled out the grocery bag (my cheap trash can liner) to find it dripping liquid back into the bottom. I look down and observe a couple ounces of "liquid."

Oh. My. Word.

Is that pee?

"Boys! Did someone pee in the trash can?"

"I did it!" was the enthusiastic response I received.

Really? Is there no shame?

No fear?

No "Oh crud, I'm in trouble..." ?

No denying it?

No painful silence?

No waiting to see if I can get away with it?

No....

Just a little boy beaming with pride. His hand up in the air waving, "Me! I did it! Please acknowledge me! All you other dudes check me out! I'm the guy that peed in the trash can! Oh yeah!"

They are so... gross.

Things I never thought I'd hear myself say

"OK.... Now where is Jesus' thumb?"

[silence while they search around on the ground]

"It's here..."

[bends down to pick it up]

"...and here."

[bends down to pick up the rest of it.]

I attempt to reattach the extremities. So much for "Not one of his bones will be broken." If the super glue doesn't work our Easter scene will be Biblically inaccurate. The finger gets set and I yell out my second improbable phrase:

"NO ONE HOLD JESUS' HAND UNTIL IT'S DRY!"

Next day:

I hear a crash.

"What fell?" I yell from the other room.

"Ty broke something." Jack answers.

"I broke the head."

"Whose head?"

"The guy who breaks heads."

Must have been the Roman soldier.