The day of Papa's funeral, I hustled all the Middles outside to run out some energy before having to sit quietly through the funeral. Never one to miss an opportunity to multitask, I began scooping dog poop (with 3 dogs, this is a never-ending chore). Kate and Glory started following me around, eagerly pointing out poop piles. Miss Andie joined in, although she missed the important point that we DON'T TOUCH POOP, we only POINT at poop. (There is nothing like seeing your daughter's sweet, chubby fingers wrapped around dog poop to make you want to vomit).
After some emergency handwashing and reestablishment of poop-pointing protocol, we were back in business.
Kate: Here's poop, Ninang!
Glory: I see it, too!
Kate: Good job, Glory. Good eye!
Andie: Anuddah one! Anuddah one! (That's Andie for "another one").
As I start to scoop the pile, Glory chimes in: Aww. It's such a cute little poop. (cooing) Cute little poop. Cute little poop.
Now there's an adjective I've never used to describe poop.