“Pizza is yucky,” I say to the boys.

“No, yummy!” they always retort.

I say the same thing about ice cream, cookies, and every other fun thing they like to nibble on at snack time.

And every time their smiling protest is the same: “No, yummy!”

Speaking of yucky, I had another little phrase I used to say to them on occasion, and they would always giggle disproportionately to what I thought the line deserved.

If I spilled something, or found a stain somewhere, or saw a wiggly worm in the driveway, I would say with a grin:

“Yucky Pooh Bear!”

And they would laugh. I mean, really laugh.

But I never understood why.

Until recently.

Turns out they thought I was saying, “Yucky poop air!”

So, now I get it. (The laughter, I mean.)

Little boys and their bodily functions—things they’ll always enjoy giggling about, I guess. It’s just nature running its course.

Now that I know what they think I’m saying, I still say it to them.

And they still giggle.

So do I.

I think we need a few more girls in the house.