Tag Archive | Automobile

Poop In The Coupe

On Wednesday morning, I changed a leaky poopy diaper.  Ugh.  Wednesday night, we found a glob of poop on the floor, that I had mistaken for a leaf (and thankfully not stepped on).  Yitzchak, of course, cleaned it up.  Done?  Done.

cozy coupe, cozy coupe, cozy coop, kid car, toy car, poop car, kiddie car, kid in car, little tikes car

Cozy Coupe. Ours is sans eyes, though.

Shabbat was Yom Kippur.  Friday night, Shlomo points to his Cozy Coupe and says, “Yeah?”  I said, “Yeah, it’s your car.  You want to sit in your car?  Sit in it and drive.  Zoom zoom!”  He’s not happy.  He points, turning his hand so his finger is pointing into the car.  I look down, and see something on the edge of the seat.  Something brown.  Oh, no.  I guess that explains where the glob on the floor came from (I thought I had gotten lucky and even though he’d run around before I changed the diaper, he hadn’t sat on anything).

Yes, it’s poop.  Dry, non-smelly poop.  Shlomo is pointing to it, because he wants it cleaned.  His car has poop in it, and that grosses him out.  Little cleanie.  Well, I waited for Yitzchak to get home.  Yitzchak took a wipe to it.  But Shlomo refuses to sit.  He keeps pointing to the seat.  Once poopy, always poopy.

“You got poop in your car?” I ask.  “Pup, pup?  Pup!” Shlomo says, pointing to the car.  I think – wait a second.  He hasn’t sat in his car since Wednesday morning, because there’s poop in it.  It’s Friday night now, and that car is his favorite toy.  Oh.  My.  Gosh.  He has given up on his favorite toy for two and a half days, because it has poop in it.  I can’t believe it.  (Lucky me, huh?)  That’s why he’s gone back to playing with other things.  That’s why he’s pushed the car but not sat in it.

And to think that I just figured it was a phase, because he was sick of the car.  He’s not sick of the car, he’s just grossed out.

It’s now Sunday night, and he still won’t sit in the car, or put dolls in it to drive to dolls around.  Because, of course, the dolls shouldn’t get dirty, either.  Even from cleaned-up poop.

Once poopy, always poopy.

And while we’re on the subject of poop, what’s a poopy headLet’s see . . .

Taxi? Car! Bike?

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I went with Shlomo today to go pay two bills – one at the post office, and one at the bank machine.  Since I had to pick something up from Yitzchak, I chose to go the the post office near the shuk.  From there, it is about a minute’s walk to the bus stop (not the one by the shuk, the one right after).  I figured that at 10:30 in the morning, the bus would be empty enough to justify getting on a stop after the shuk, and I would still be able to get a seat.  Thank G-d, I was right.

While we were waiting for the bus, Shlomo started getting antsy (read: tired and bored).  I asked him a little while prior if he wanted to go to sleep, and he said, “Yeah?”  I gave him his doll, but he hadn’t gone to sleep yet.  So, to keep him from getting upset, I asked him where there were cars.  (Answer: Parked on the other side of the street, and driving on both sides.)  He immediately perked up and started looking at the cars.  “Car?  Car?”  And I started pointing to the cars that were parked opposite us.

In Israel the way you hail a taxi is by sticking your arm out, and pointing your finger.  That’s right – hold your arm out, over the curb, and point your index finger.  We were pointing at cars, and one of the cars, going the opposite direction, was a taxi.

“Car!” I said.  “Oops, that’s not just a car, it’s a taxi.”  At the same moment, I saw a taxi going in our direction.  I took down my finger, and shook my head (and wagged my finger from side to side), but it was too late.  He slowed and stopped, and I shook my head again, apologizing.

“What are you doing?” he asks in Hebrew.  He was kind of annoyed, and justifiably so, because he thought he had a customer, who then recanted.

“I was pointing, ‘car, car, car, car, car,'” I said.

The taxi driver grinned.  Suddenly, it was no big deal.  “Also, ‘bike, bike, bike,'” he said.  “Have a good day!”

We were standing right outside a bike shop.  Good idea, taxi driver.

“Sorry about that!” I called after him.  I don’t know if he heard me, but I’m not sure it matters.