Merry nipples

Kids say the darndest things, especially when their fathers teach them new, inappropriate words. As luck would have it, those same children usually debut those words in large gatherings where maybe such a word isn't fitting of the occasion.

The Compan side of family has a wide range of "appropriate vocabulary," but even then, the word "nipple" is hard to work into general conversation at our annual Christmas gathering.

This morning, Noah happened to hear his father say the word, "nipple," (please don't ask me why), and he must have loved the sound of it. He gleefully repeated, "Nipple!" His father gleefully laughed... and then said it over and over. Each time Noah said it, they both laughed, to the point where David's side was starting to cramp.

So despite me saying, "Noah, Daddy said 'tipple,'" as much as I humanly could, "nipple" was all I heard on the 1.5-hour drive to Navarre. When we arrived, I feared the worst.

I shouldn't have worried so much about Noah's words; instead, I should have focused on his gag reflex. We'd been at the restaurant where our Christmas gathering was located for just 15 minutes or so when Noah coughed while eating a goldfish cracker. He got out of the booth where he was sitting, took two steps and puked everywhere.

It's true that we've been battling the stomach flu all week. When Noah gets sick, his gag reflex usually remains on high for 7–10 days, even when the virus is gone. If he starts to cough hard or drinks too much in a short amount of time, the contents of his stomach head for the hills. Believe me, he gets that from his mother, who gags on her toothbrush every morning (you can imagine how painful it was to brush my teeth each day when I was pregnant with Noah!).

Anyway, we made a giant mess of the restaurant floor, of Noah and of myself, but we stuck it out and stayed for another hour or so to at least eat with the rest of the gang and wait for Santa's arrival. Because of the puking, we didn't socialize much. I thought it was best to keep our germs to our little table.

Some folks did stop by to visit. Here's my Aunt Vicki showing off her first grandchild, McKayla, the daughter of my cousin Randy (whom a few of you Columbus-ites know from his visits to my apartment about 4–5 years ago).


Thankfully, Santa parked the sleigh outside pretty quickly after dinner. He and Mrs. Claus brought presents for all the young kids. Here are my nephews Adam (left) and Matthew (right) waiting to get their packages from St. Nick.


Noah's eyes lit up when he saw Santa, but he was not interested in getting up close to him, even when a present was involved. Mommy had to encourage him to even reach out for his package, which turned out to be an Elmo block set (about which he was THRILLED).


Santa even had gifts for the big kids—at the least the women of my mom's generation. They got their presents so long as they sat on Santa's lap too! My mom got in on the fun:


Noah and I enjoyed watching the Santa antics from the safety of our chair.


After Santa left, I decided it was time for us to make a quick departure. I am usually one to linger until the crowd thins, but I thought we'd better head on out of there before Noah's dinner decided to protest in his belly.

And then it happened. "Nipples!"

I don't know how it got started, but I heard Tim & David chuckling and Noah squealing with delight. And then out of my 18-month-old's mouth came a slew of mammory references. Oh geez. Even my mom got the barrage. How very embarrassing.

What summed up the night for me was this: On the way home I said to Noah, "Did you see Santa today? And did he say 'Merry Christmas!'?" My son's reply: "Nipples!" Uh-huh. Merry nipples.