As tradition has is it, I snuggle first with one child while my hubby snuggles with the other, then we switch. Laying with my daughter on the top bunk tonight, my hubby walks into their bedroom and stinks up the place. Woowee. I catch a wiff and sit up in my daughter’s bed claiming, Jesus, Mary and Joseph. (Technically, not swearing so I didn’t have to put 50 cents in each kid’s piggy bank.)
We all get bad gas occasionally, but my husband more regularly than occasionally and man was this a doozy.
The kids thought my “statement” was hilarious. My son pipes up from the bottom bunk, I know who Jesus and Mary are, but who is the blowfish?
It’s times like this where I say to myself, it’s Friday night, I’m home with my gassy husband and giggly children, where else could I be that could be any better? Nowhere. Except for maybe hangin’ out in the manger with a blowfish? Nah. I’m where I wanna be.
by J. G. McGlothern