This is one of those posts where I hesitate to share due to the subject matter, but on the other hand it's just too darn funny to keep it to myself. So...read at your own risk, I guess.
The girls got a dollhouse for Christmas. Currently it's set up downstairs. Tuesday mornings find us getting ready for our homeschool co-op, and Natalie was hanging out near the dollhouse as she waited for Sarah to finish brushing her hair and putting on her shoes.
As she was waiting for her sister, Natalie had a bit of a gas attack. Now you should know that we don't use the "F" word in our house (no, not THAT "F" word--although we don't use that either of course--the crude "F" word that some people use to describe gas). We don't like it (or maybe I just don't like it--whatever). So Sarah learned quickly not to say it (a playmate had ever so kindly taught her the word), and Natalie's never heard it.
All this to say, Natalie didn't really have a label for the noise she just emitted. So she giggled and declared, "My bottom just fired on the house!"
(I'm probably going to have to burn this blog post when she's a little bit older. It's one of those stories that is terribly embarrassing later on. However, for now just enjoy the chuckle.)