Grass 'N Mud

Granddaughter Hannah writes...

I don't want to steal Jason's thunder, but I consider it my duty to share this story. I can promise every bit is true and accurate, as I, being one of many innocent bystanders, witnessed the whole thing. From the loud crash at the cabin door to the thick aroma emitted from the bucket of water as he pulled the underpants out two very long days later, I saw it all.

Jason was 11, so it must have been 1998, and he had been several years potty trained. Grandma and Grandpa had taken us north to the cabin for our annual 4th of July liaison and the first thing Jason wanted to do was hoist the canoe on his monstrous back and head down to Lake Somo. It was maybe a quarter mile walk down to landing and Jason, blindly trudging, balanced the front end on his huge melon and dragged the tail of the silver beast behind him. We laughed, mocking his confidence, but he must have made it to the water, since that's where it hit him.

He decided to do some casting from one of the thin docks. Tossing his line out, reeling it back in. Over and over. Out. In. Out. In. There was little success fishing from the dock, but Jason had the patience. After failing for half an hour, he gathered his gear and loaded up the canoe. As he lifted his first leg to climb in, a deep howl resounded from his belly. He stood dead still, leg stiff in the air with his eyes wide open.

"I gotta run!" he thought. If he was to make it to the cabin he would have to take the quarter mile at a dead sprint. He took off, running up the stairs beside the Lodge and cutting through the parking lot. He nearly clotheslined himself on the useless volleyball net as he ran into the small grove of trees on the edge of the Lodge property. He darted from side to side, like an agile cat, dodging tree after tree. Then, as quick as he'd been running, he stopped, lifted one leg and let a bellowing fart, making room and buying him a few extra seconds. He was only 50 yards from the cabin door and already we could hear him yelling "MOVE!"

Grandma and I had been washing dishes, Grandpa was out back fixing something and I think Zac was reading a National Geo on the couch (Hamlin men love those Native ladies). Grandma and I looked at each other as the cabin door burst open and before we could say anything, the bathroom door slammed shut behind Jason.

"It smells like he pooped his pants" Grandma said quietly. A huge grin began to take over her face as we heard a muffled voice from the bathroom:

"OH MAN! OH NO! OHHHHH MMMMAAAANNNNNN!" Jason repeated as the smell slowly devoured the cabin. Grandma began to shake silently as tears of laughter streamed down her face.

"What's the matter, Jason?" She asked in between cackles.

"I think I pooped my pants." He said, as if unsure as to whether the underpants were full of that, or chocolate pudding. Immediately, I called home.

"Jason hahahahah pooped hahahahahhahahahahah his hahahahahahahah pants hahahah!!!!!" I laughed into the phone. Strangely, dad didn't find it very amusing. So I hung up and joined to rest of the family in laughter.

Grandpa came in the back door. "What the holy hell is that smell?" he asked. We each laughed harder than we'd ever laughed before. At one point, Zac was literally rolling on the floor.

Then, the bathroom door swung open and Jason emerged, clearly exhausted, and proceeded to tell us what had happened. He was a good sport, I must admit, until he found out that I had called dad.

"It didn't poop my pants, HANNAH!" he screamed "when I was running through the trees I slipped and fell and grass 'n mud got in my pants!"

Grandpa helped him to fill a five gallon bucket with water so he could soak the 'grass 'n mud' stained underpants. Two days later, when he lifted them out with what SHOULD have been a ten foot pole, we instantly traveled back in time and laughed (and gagged) reminiscently.

He held on to it, too. Grass n' mud. For YEARS! (Much like the cookie dough incident involving Zac and a tube of Pillsbury chocolate chip, but that's a different story, and probably more inappropriate than this). In fact, Jason's first email address was GrassNmud98@aol.com. No lie!

On a personal note, this is one of my fondest childhood memories. I can vividly remember standing in the kitchen with Grandma when Jason ran by. Each time I tell the story, no matter who the audience, I can't help but laugh throughout.