Vurp

Slade, unlike his big brother Eli and the odd job who writes this blog, is a big eater. He’ll devour whatever Sally smashes up for him. Squash, pinto beans, avocado, green beans, oatmeal. Whatever. Same goes for mother’s milk, even if it’s pulled cold from the freezer and loaded up with Neosure.

We’re glad the boy eats well, but we have discovered a downside. We call them vurps, as in, Slade just vurped on my only clean shirt, as in, Slade just vurped on the cat.

As in:

Me: “I think somebody spilled something on the floor.”

Sally: “No, I think somebody vurped.”

Me, looking at Slade: “Young man, did you vurp on the floor.”

Slade, kicking, smiling, drooling: “Coo. Oooh. Daaa.”

Sally: “See? The boy is obviously guilty.”

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