Kids Are Gross

I was going to write about something different today, but after having to put my couch slip covers in the washing machine I felt a new inspiration coming on:

Kids Are Gross.

Through the fine art of the English language, I’m going to try to convey this concept with as little disgust to the reader as possible.  I don’t want you to have to wash your couch slip covers too.

So, here’s a question for you.  Are all kids gross?  Or is it just boys?  I’ve heard friends say that their girls like to be neat and clean.  And I do remember that when I was a little girl I wouldn’t even open my mouth in the morning until I had gone straight to the bathroom and scrubbed my teeth.  (I don’t know if this is usual for girls or if I was especially neurotic?)  What I DO KNOW is that when I tell my boys to brush their teeth, they say “WHY?  We aren’t going anywhere!?!”  or “I just won’t breathe on anyone.”

Much to my dismay, my kids seem to have a disdain for basic personal hygiene.  Not to mention a keen fondness for poop.  POOP, POOP, POOP.  If I had a nickel for every time I heard that word, well, for starters I would hire someone to clean the bathrooms every time the boys used them so I never had to lay my eyes on such horrors again.  Anyways, my personal theory is that girls are probably gross sometimes, but boys have pretty much corned the market on grossness.

The thing that really amazes me though is the ability these children have to blithely ignore their own ickiness while being thoroughly nauseated by someone else doing the same thing.  Remove the mustard from your own face before gagging over the ketchup on the face of your brother!  <- Pretty close to what the Bible says, although perhaps referring to weightier matters.  Anyways, it is a lesson we need to learn around here!

Seriously, meals at our house are a NIGHTMARE.  Everyone is messy and they are all too worked up pointing out the other’s messiness to worry about having good manners themselves.  Example:

Beau:  “EWWW!  A crumb just flew off Finn’s fork!  It LANDED right by me!  I CAN’T EAT!!!!”  (As he points with food covered fingers.)

Dad:  “Finn, stop waving your fork around!  Beau, use your fork!  Pasta is not a finger food!”

Beau:  (licking fingers) “Sorry, Daddy.”

Finn:  “Dash is being GROSS!  He just spit out his food!  EWWW!  I’M GONNA PUKE!”

Beau:  “I can’t DEAL with this!!!  I’m going to eat at the counter!!!”

Me:  “I’m going to pour some wine.”

photo-1Ah, nothing like a relaxing family dinner.  Oh, and by the way, they aren’t joking when they say “I’M GONNA PUKE!”  Take this morning, for instance.

Dash had pancakes with a little peanut butter on them.  I washed him up after he was done, but I forgot to get his plate off the table.  A few moments later, I hear screams from the living room.


And, because that’s not dramatic enough, “I PUKED!!!”

Yes, Beau, actually puked on the couch because Dash wiped some peanut butter on him.  So while I took the slip covers off and put them in the wash, Beau went to take a shower because he felt compelled to scrub off his first layer of skin after the incident.  And I still have to ask him if he used soap after washing his hands???

If you think the food based incidents are bad, just imagine when something really nasty happens.  Like this weekend, when we were out driving on the highway in Dad’s car.  All three boys are lined up in the backseat, seemingly in good spirits when suddenly, a crisis ensues.

“EWWW!!!  Dash is picking his nose!”  At first they are amused by it, like, “Cool, Dash is just like a big boy now!”  … until he is successful.


I scramble to open some tissues from the glove box, but my fingers can’t work fast enough.  “JUST GIVE THEM A NAPKIN!” hollers my husband.

“I’M GONNA PUKE!!!” cries Finn.

I hand the napkin to Beau, who is somewhat of a booger fan and is able to handle the task.  But it’s too late.  Finn is puking all over his pants and his booster seat.

Thankfully, I have an extra pair of pants and a BIG pack of wipes for just such an occasion.  So we are soon on our way again, with the windows rolled down to air things out.  (Until we hit construction and the asphalt smell becomes more overwhelming than the vomit smell.)  The next 40 minutes are spent in bumper to bumper traffic with Finn crying that he can’t stand the smell of his own mess and the rest of us not wanting to be asphyxiated by road construction gases.

“I hate puke!”  he complains.  “I wish there was no such thing as puke!”

So do we, Finn, so do we.

Sorry, I hope I didn’t make you too nauseated with these stories.  Myself, I have a pretty strong stomach (and good thing for that).  How about your family?  Are your kids grossed out by each others grossness?