The Smeller's the Feller

You knew if I (Jason) was ever in charge of the blog it'd be about gas, right? As the Daddy on Duty this past weekend while Jenny relaxed in Northern Georgia with Cricket in their mutual great-with-childness, Zoe and I had some fun times talking about gas. It went like this, "Say excuse me, Daaaaddy." "I didn't toot Zoe, you say excuse me." And again, "Daaady, when you toot, you have to say excuse me."

After a few rounds of that methane-accusing banter, we realized that Addie was on the bed with us tootin' up a storm. She was smellin' them and dealing them as fast as Zoe and I could blame each other. Addie didn't say anything, but she turned up her lip in a knowing way each time the toots came. In the end, the old adage holds true that she who smelt it dealt it, even if she never said a word.

In a separate (but related) tooting story, at some point over the weekend I must have actually let one slip. Zoe, used to helping with poopy diapers, bellowed, "Somebody's got poop!" "No, Zoe, excuse me, I tooted," I sheepishly admitted.

All in all, we had a great weekend bouncing on the bed and eating pizza and playing at Grandma' house, gas notwithstanding.

[I (Jenny) must add that although I don't really think I like the idea of blogging on my beautiful baby girl's flatulence, J breezed through three days wholly alone with the girls, which is more than I do, so I'm figuring he's earned the right to blog this week. I had a wonderful and relaxing vacation with Jen in Georgia, where I gained a recipe for peanut butter pie that the family already loves. The photo is of Addie "helping" me make it today.]