Both boys were sick today, which made for a pretty lazy day, for them. They lounged around, sucked on chips of ice, napped and watched cartoons, while we waited on them hand and foot. We had an open house at our place, so we ventured to my parent's house, since they were out of town.
The boys have inherited my ability to run a temperature when ill that allows you to fry fish on your forehead. Somewhere around mid-day the battery died on our digital thermometer, so we raided gramma's medicine cabinet, finding her old glass thermometer we grew up using. The boys thought this was pretty cool, so Cole jumped to the head of the line, popping it quickly into his mouth.
I hope that was not gramma's old rectal thermometer. [T]
What does rectal mean mom? [L]
Cole gets a quizzical look on his face.
For your bottom.
In the butt! Why would gramma have a thermometer that goes in your butt?
Cole's look goes from quizzical to terror, to nausea.
Well, sometimes you take babies temperature in their bottoms.
Did you do that to me as a baby?!? (pushing the record button on his mental tape recorder)
Cole's eyes, big as saucers, plead for someone to rescue him.
This was my cue to walk away, fighting the grin spreading across my face. No matter what was said next, it was not going to end pretty.
For the record, it was the regular thermometer, but I am afraid Logan is in the other room calling a lawyer to make sure this is legal.