Poop Dog and her posse

We were all sitting at the table this morning enjoying breakfast, Gregg in his jammy pants, me in his shirt, Shawn Joaquin kickin' it in a pull up and t-shirt. We enjoyed the scent of the freesias, the pancakes, the Peet's coffee...birds came down and tied ribbons in my hair while I sang a happy tune...it was spring and all was good and right with the world.

After announcing loudly I FINISHED, Shawn Joaquin needed help down from his booster seat. After getting him to the floor, I sat down to enjoy my coffee.

G: What's that on your sleeve?

Me: I don't know...chewed up pancake...or...

G: It's POO! OH MY GOD IT'S POO! I'M NEVER WEARING THAT SHIRT AGAIN!

After realizing that yes, it was indeed poo and that I had rubbed it and almost put it in my mouth to determine if it was pancake or peanut butter, I scrubbed my hands and went down to the laundry with my arm extended to avoid further contamination. I came back up to find Gregg changing Shawn Joaquin with a jacket tied over his face. Looking at me, Gregg made an announcement.

G: For the rest of the day, YOU SHALL BE KNOWN AS POOPY SLEEVE.

SJ: POOPY SLEEVE! POOPY SLEEVE!

G: And in public, we shall call you PS.

SJ: POOPY SLEEVE! POOPY SLEEVE!

G: Look how the dog is more interested in you now. Wait! That's it. You shall now be called Poop Dog and her Posse. POOP DOG AND HER POSSE.

SJ: POOP DOG! POOP DOG!

And with that they went downstairs to get dressed, with Gregg humming to the tune of Hotel California, "poop on her sleeve, poop near her face...we pretended not to notice...Poop Dog's poopy waste.....wel-come to the Poop House California..."

Now I understand how Rodney Dangerfield felt.