Last month Nathan and I took Benjamin to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Though we had taken him as a baby a handful of times, it was his first chance to really explore and verbalize what he was seeing. We loved watching the excitement on Ben's face as he checked out the sea turtles, penguins, and sea otters. Touching a bat ray was especially thrilling, as was the toddler "Splash Zone" where he climbed a play structure, played with boats, and "controlled" the tides. It was a fun day, one of the last ones we will have together as a family of three. :)
Yes, you read correctly... dog poop. I've been waiting for it to happen, and today it finally did. Benjamin and I were exploring outside this morning (it finally stopped raining so we could do that again!) and I turned my back for a minute to throw a stick for Sadie. When I turned back around, I noticed that Benjamin was intently inspecting something on the ground. Not just inspecting, but probing. WITH HIS HANDS. I bent down to take a closer look and realized that my son was playing with dog poop. Dog poop . Disgusting. I whisked him up and into the house, zombie style (arms straight out in front of him) and thoroughly scrubbed his hands with my favorite "Kitchen Lemon" anti-bacterial, hopefully anti-dog poop, until his hands (and arms) smelled like a citrus grove. As he sits next to me while I write this, eating a granoloa bar, I have to reassure myself that the anti-bacterial soap did it's job (as did the hot water and vigorous scrubbing for a full sixty seconds...
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