Max-ism #412

My son, Max, has a way with words.

At four, he is wise beyond his years.

This afternoon, my husband, Steve, came home and immediately heard Max calling to him from the basement.

"Daddy! I need you to come wipe my butt!"

(His timing was impeccable. I narrowly escaped Butt Patrol--yeah!)

A few minutes later, Steve came upstairs and said, "That was the funniest thing I think I've ever heard."

When Steve walked into the bathroom, Max was holding up his right hand, fingers covered in poop.

"Oh, no!" he cried. "There's poop on my fingers! My fingers are RUINED! Mommy gave me these fingers!"