Butt, Bottom, Derrière: It’s all the Same

Posted by Leigh Powell Hines on January 15, 2014 

When I cover luxury hotel properties for Skimbaco Lifestyle or my own blog, I sometimes get comments on Facebook that suggest that people wouldn’t mind trading places with me.  Trust me: That is about 10 percent of my life that truly looks appealing. No one would want to trade with me for the other 90 percent, especially weekday mornings as I rush the car out of the garage to take my son to school in downtown Raleigh.

First off, we’re always late leaving.  My stress levels are high, causing the children’s stress levels to elevate, and they are more vulnerable to getting on each other’s nerves. 

When I worked for the wonderful man, George Sweat, who was Secretary of the Department of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention, we would travel across North Carolina, and he would give speeches to different community organizations. 

He would always ask people: “What is the definition of insanity?”

He would answer, “It’s doing the same thing every day and expecting different results.”

Well, I continue to do the same thing each morning, and results are always the same. Chaotic.

On this particular morning, the kids started bantering in the backseat, and my youngest is so volatile that she’ll get upset if my son even looks at her funny.

In between the screams, all I could hear was her yelling in a high-pitched voice, “BOTTOM.”

Then I would hear his response: “Butt!”

Screams would continue. “BAAAAA-TUM,” replied the little Southern voice.

“Butt! It’s Butt!,” he replied like a know-it-all.

In between the yelling and fighting, I managed to get enough control to find out what this backseat spat was about. Apparently, my son told her that her Cinderella bear had a rainbow-colored butt.  It is true. Her bear is rainbow-colored.

I had had only one cup of tea, and I had had enough at 9:02 a.m. on this particular morning.

“Bottom! Butt! Derrière! It’s all the same thing,” I said loudly with exasperation.

Silence.  Then laughter.

“What’s that?” Inquiring 8-year-old minds wanted to know.

 “Gross,” replied my 4-year-old.  The backside debate continued in the backseat with a new French word in the mix, on occasion.

My mind immediately thought, “You two are being a pain in my a**!”

Some things are better left unsaid.  Let’s just stick with French and leave donkeys out of it.

 

 

 

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