In case you missed it, last week I talked about the kiddo and his obsession with balls. Yes, you read that write. He. Loves. Balls. *pause for giggles*

Well, tonight, after a weekend at Gram’s house, so Dad-oo and I could do some work on the house and enjoy a Valentine’s dinner kid-free, we had a bit of a melt down at dinner. You see, I tried to feed him this.

But he refused to eat it. There were tears, kicking, and requests for different food. Carrots. Milk. Bananas. Blue-BERRIES. And…a big ball “snamwitch”.

Between hand-smothered giggles, okay there were all-out belly laughs, Dad-oo and I came up with a plan. We would make him an official Big Ball “Snamwitch”.

Yes, that is his pasta, between two pieces of bread.

It worked. For a few minutes.

Until, without thinking, I pushed back the contents of his Big Ball “Snamwitch” with the fork that still had some pasta on it. Big. Mistake. He refused to eat it.

Instead, the kiddo now wants a basketball “snamwitch”. Which we gladly supplied.

Little did he know that it was the Big Ball “Snamwitch” with a healthy does of BBQ sauce.

When we picked up the kiddo on Sunday, Grams boasted about how he ate so well with her. What, exactly, was she feeding him?

Check out more Wordful/Wordless Wednesday Posts at 7 Clown Circus and 5MinutesForMom

OK, so this didn’t actually happen on Valentine’s Day, but it is such a…errrrr…sweet story that I just had to share.

There I was minding my own business, getting dinner together early last week. The kiddo was running around like a mad man (what else is new), Dad-oo was off kicking some butt at martial arts. I turn around to find the kiddo sitting on the pug’s bed. He has something in his hand.You already know where this is going, don’t you?

“Gar-bage” he says to me. Which usually means it’s a piece of paper, string or pebble that he found on the floor. Wait, scratch that, if it was a pebble, it would be in his mouth. He’d be chewing on it. That sound always sends shiver’s down my back.

And then this happens. He hands me a small piece of dog poop. I had no idea where it came from, and try as we might, I could not find evidence of more poop in the house. But there’s always more, that’s something I’ve learned after 6 years of owning dogs. If there’s one piece, there’s more.

To this day, the remaining poop has eluded me. Although, Later Mom was nice enough to point out that it could always be worse, “At least you didn’t find it on their foot or other, grosser, places.”

How about you? Any romantic, special, poop-tastic Valentine’s Day stories to share?