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We're big fans of Boudreaux's Butt Paste for diaper rash. Not for any reason other than I thoroughly enjoy the name. Clara "Butt Paste" Jane learned about this stuff long ago and often talks about Butt Paste during diaper changes.

For the past few days she's had a stuffy nose, so we've been giving her regular hits of Vicks Vap-o-Rub. The other day she declared, "It's Butt Paste for my nose! I need Butt Paste in my nose!" To which I said, "Jesus Christ, Child! You are 21 months old; you're not supposed to possess logic of that nature!"

Unfortunately, she's an addict so all we hear is "I need Butt Paste in my nose!"

Well, that, and her new favorite song:

During this morning's drive home we stopped to replenish the gas tank and our coffee supplies. While getting into the truck I sloshed flaming-hot coffee on my hand. What do you do when you scald your hand with flaming-hot coffee? Why, you chant, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!", that's what!

And if Clara Jane is with you, you then listen to an angelic toddler voice chanting, "Fuck fuck fuck fuck ee-ey-ee-ey-oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck ee-eye-ee-ey-oh fuck fuck fuck ..." for two minutes straight.

I officially need to have my mouth stapled shut until my child is past the mimicking stage. Or until she's in college.

And now, pictures!

That's my little family - B., me and Clara Jane with her filthy, filthy mouth and her nose full of Butt Paste. I think we're going to use the photo for our Christmas cards this year, inscribed with her new little tune.

(Photo courtesy of The Cuz, whose mad professional photo skillz almost got us kicked out of the Missouri State Fairgrounds by a security guard who might possibly have attended the first MO State Fair.)