It is upon us. The season in a child's life when he or she finds ecstatic humor in potty jokes.
Jack: "You're a goose."
Me: "Well, you're a moose."
"You're a boose."
"You're on the loose."
"You're a foose."
"You're apple juice."
"You're orange juice."
"You're banana juice."
"You're banana poop juice!"
"Ew. That sounds pretty yucky, Jacky."
"No, no! It tastes really good because it has bananas in it."
Only being in the business of mothering for a little less than five
years, I ask you intermediate and advanced mothers out there–when does
the potty-joke season end? If I look to my husband for a gauge, I fear the season