Poor Patrick. He is about the saddest little thing ever. Last night, while we were sitting eating dinner, he laid across his chair and started crying because he had gotten "bee frosting" on his nice, clean jammies. "Mommy! I got BEE FWOSTIN on my nice, cwean jammies!" He was so upset, but I wasn't really sure what he was saying. All I knew was that it had him very agitated. He kept crying, so I asked him to explain to me what "bee frosting" was.

For those of you who don't know, "bees" is the word we use instead of something yucky like "poop." I hate that word. Poop. Ugh. Just typing it makes my skin crawl. Anyway, apparently "bee frosting," according to Patrick, is when you do bees in your pants that "don't make any noise coming out." Okay. I had it figured out. Something I've often heard called a Hershey Squirt. Poor Patrick. Poor, potty-trained Patrick, had had a "shart" (that was my mom's word).

I took him to the bathroom, got him cleaned up, put him in new pajamas and brought him back to the dinner table. He was much happier, and then explained to his sisters what he had done. Just another adventure in Tierney-ville.