Those Dang Kids, Butt Edition

The last couple of days have been more like summer than spring, and the boys spent most of them naked. James came in from outside yesterday morning in tears, showing me one of his buttocks, which was red and abraded, from where he had fallen on it.
"My butthole!" he wailed. "Mama, kiss my butthole!"

***

And then last night, Peter and I were deep in conversation that was not about the children (a remarkable circumstance in itself) when too long a silence became alarming. The boys were outside, and Henry did not answer when we called. I went out to see what was up. A trail of inside-out clothing led from the door around the side of the house, where Henry was poised in a strange stance, like a cowboy at the end of a long day, and I could see his face change from triumph to defensiveness as I rounded the corner.

Triumph overcame him, and he told me what he had accomplished. "I pooped! Standing up!"

A sweeter summer scene: the first outside nap of the year.