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9to5to9: Making peace with the poop bag

Submitted by on Sunday, 26 October 2008 2 Comments

I’m not sure where it came from, but there’s a good chance Little Guy free-lanced it.

I’m not sure how to spell it, though lacking an official entry in Webster’s, I have to go with two words.

Whatever the style or origin, we’re in closing in on a month of the poop bag reign of terror. It’s gone from Little Guy’s favorite insult to his favorite all-purpose word.

I’ve lost any inclination to fight it, because it could be worse. In fact, Big Guy was saying much worse at this age. And fighting it would only burn it more deeply into Little Guy’s brain, though I honestly don’t see how he could say it any more often than he already does.

My first suspect in the spread of the poop-bag plague was, of course, Dad.

“Where did he get that from?” I asked, my eyes narrowed.

“Beats me,” he said, and he probably was telling the truth. He always grins when he lies and he wasn’t this time.

The only other possible culprit cleared herself last week.

“Where did he get that from?” she asked as Little Guy launched into a sing-song series of “poop bags.”

Charges dropped.

There’s a slight chance he’s remembering it from a long-ago neighborhood walk. Along one route there’s a dispenser of, well, poop bags for people to use to collect pet deposits. I’m sure I explained what it was, because we had to borrow a poop bag when Big Guy’s rock collection grew too big for his pockets that day. But that was in March. Little Guy didn’t start saying it until last month.

So I gave up trying to figure it out and decided to make poop bag my own, just as a long-ago roommate and I routinely greeted each other with “Hey, word-that-rhymes-with-witch!” Might as well beat them to the punch.

Big Guy’s eyes got big and round the first time he heard poop bag slip from my lips. “If I say it often enough, he’ll get sick of hearing it soon,” I assured him.

Better get dressed or a poop bag’s gonna get you.

If you don’t eat your lunch a poop bag will.

Did a poop bag carry off your shoes, because I’m sure you left them by the door like you were supposed to.

This has been going on for two weeks. So much for Little Guy getting sick of hearing it.

For a while I wondered if — hoped, even — poop bag might be a character, similar to the Doo-Dahs Big Guy picked up along side the road, tucked into bed at night and saved a place at the table for when he was Little Guy’s age.

I decided to ask.

“So tell me,” I ventured tonight as we danced the change-into-pajamas cha-cha. “What’s a poop bag?”

He giggled. “It’s umm … something little kids leave in the potty.”

Great. Exactly what I feared.

At least he’s abandoned poop bag as an insult, opting for the deeper cut of “stoopit idiot.” Part of me is pleased with the linguistic sophistication of the compound insult, though the words are redundant.

It’s just a phase, right?

Copyright 2008 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.

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  • ParentingPink Mommy said:

    I can’t stop laughing! Really. This is funny! I love the term “poo bag.” I mean, you are right, it could be worse…much worse! And hey, it’s kinda cute in it’s own bizarre way. Augh, kids! They say the cutest….and strangest stuff!

    Btw, Sweet Pea apparently has a bad case of separation anxiety. Had to let her cry last night, but now she’s much better. Leave it to a shrink to have a kid with psychological needs. LOL

  • debra said:

    Yes, even I have to admit it’s cute. Especially since he says it in such a non-malicious, happy way. Face-eating grin as he chants it, like he’s saying, “You’re not going to get mad because I’m being adorable while I’m being obnoxious.” And he’s right, dang it!

    Poor Sweet Pea! Little Guy’d go through that off and one when we were at day care. Heart-broken, end-of-the-world weeping. In such situations, I’d be thrilled to hear him belt out “poop bag.”