Talk Potty to Me.

It must have been the bus. I'm sure of it. I just know that with each ride to and from school, his innocence was eroded.

"MOM! Kaila bit her waffle and it looks like a WEENIE!"

Seriously. It's not even 8am and I'm dealing with weenie. I need to take up drinking coffee.

"A weenie."

"Yeah! And then she bit it again and now it looks like ..." he was probably reminiscing about a time on the bus when a kid taught him another inappropriate word for some other body part. "You know," he was lifting his shirt and rubbing his 1st-grade nipples, "those things that girls wear over these."

"A BRA?!?!?! Pur your shirt DOWN! Stop doing that!" I was unnerved.

These days, it seems that everything boils down to weenies, butts, bras, burps, farts, poop and privates. Every time I turn around, I'm getting mooned by a dimple-free deriere or am sitting downwind from someone who purposefully broke wind. I've tried to stop the shenanigans through discipline. I've lied and told them they'd be kicked out of school. I've tried ignoring the etiquette ignoramuses. But, I'm losing the burp battle and am tired of the fart fight. Instead, I'm upping my burrito intake. It's time to fight fire with fire...and to stock up on Glade.