By: Angela Gillaspie © January 2001

It was a normal Saturday. Daddy was at the store, I was vacuuming, and the kids were stuffing clothing, soccer balls, and other debris under their respective beds. I shut off the vacuum and heard a hissing sound coming from the boys' room. "What're y'all doing in there?" I hollered.

"It stinks in here!" my daughter yelled back.

Walking in the room, I saw her in the middle of a mist cloud, spraying the room with my "powder fresh" aerosol deodorant. The boys quickly ran out of the room.

"What is it, hon?" I asked, knowing full well that the boys' room is notorious for gruesome discoveries. Daddy and I have found rancid sippy cups, boogers on the wall, partially-eaten Pop Tarts, dead Oreo cookies with no cream centers, cheese wrappers (with corners of hardened greenish-colored cheese), and unidentifiable clumps of what used to be some sort of food.

"Ugh! Can't you tell?" she gasped in an exaggerated nasal voice as she held her nose.

Sniffing the air, I could detect a faint but foul odor. Although I couldn't quite put my finger on it, I've smelled the stink for a couple of days now. As a parent of boys, I've grown accustomed to mysterious odors. If the stench didn't go away after a week, then Daddy and I would go on a search and destroy mission to eradicate the offensive item.

"I don't know, honey," I shrugged. She pointed to the trash and stated, "There's a turd in the garbage can."

"Ashley! Don't say that! Say, uh, 'poop' instead!" I admonished.

"OK, then there's POOP in the garbage can," she clarified on her way out of the room.

So that's why the boys left the room so quickly! I called seven-year-old Josh and four-year-old Nicky to meet me in the living room for a poop interrogation.

"Who pooped in the garbage?" I asked.

Josh rolled his eyes. He pointed at Nicky and said, "He did." Nicky grinned widely.

I suspected Nicky, he is well known for things like this. I excused Josh, turned to Nicky and asked, "Did you poop in the garbage?"

"No."

Yeah right. Trying another tactic, I asked, "How long has the poop been in the garbage?"

"A long time, a-fore yestidday," he replied.

"Who put it in the garbage?"

"I did."

"Why?"

This stumped him into silence. That ... or he was too embarrassed to answer.

"Did you poop in the garbage?" I again asked.

He grinned and said, "No! That's silly!"

I asked, "Is the poop your poop?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed proudly.

"If you didn't poop in the garbage, where did the poop come from?" I asked.

"I dunno."

"How did the poop get from your bottom into the garbage can?"

"From the potty!" he brightly said.

OK, now this is getting somewhere. "Did you pick up your poop from the potty and put it in the garbage can?"

His face grew solemn and he replied, "Oh noooo, that's gross. I used a na-kin."

Of course, how silly it was of me to suggest such a thing. Trying not to laugh or smile, I asked, "So you pooped in the potty and used a napkin to put your poop in your garbage can, right?"

"Yes!" He beamed.

"Why?"

"I was mad at you. You didn't let me have candy!"

Ah, I see. It was the old hide-the-poop-in-the-garbage-can trick to get Mommy back for not letting him have candy. I've been subjected to the hide-the-telephone-in-the-litter-box trick, the scream-until-I-get-my-way trick, the put-the-rubber-snake-on-Mommy's-keyboard trick, and even the run-naked-through-the-neighborhood trick, but the willful-purging-of-the-bowels-into-the-garbage trick was a new one for me.

Now if you'll excuse me, I think I hear a hissing sound coming from the computer room.

Stay tuned for more SouthernAngel's Stinky Kid Columns!