We have entered the obsession with crass body humor stage of childhood and you can bet your bottom (pun intended), there’s no scrapbook sticker for that.
Both my girls find it wildly hilarious to drop the F-A-R-T word and they find it even more hilarious that the use of that word just flies all over me. I’m not sure why it bothers me so much, but it may have to do with the fact that I was raised to believe that that term was a particularly unladylike way to describe (whispers…) passing gas. We just didn’t say it at my house. Maybe I have a wee bit of Southern prissy mom in me. I will drink beer out of a can, though (and without a cute, monogrammed koozie!)
Any way, my 9-year-old, Miss C, has even mastered the art of over exuberant arm farting thanks to a friend who learned how to do it from her 12-year-old brother. Seriously these kids are going to pull an arm muscle one of these days.
We’ve been practically living in my SUV over the weekends with travel soccer games keeping us on the road and my 6-year-old, Miss A, announced from the back seat one Saturday that she needed to F-A-R-T. (See, I can’t even bring myself to type the word…UGH.)
“OH, oh, oh! You know I hate that word Miss A!” I gripped the steering wheel and readied myself. The girl may still wear size 5 jeans but she can pack a punch when it comes to feats of the gastrointestinal kind. “Let’s say ‘toot,” OK? That sounds so much nicer. I can’t stand that F word.”
“MOM…toot sounds GOOFY,” Miss C said in that tone of parental disdain that 4th graders are so good at.
“But it sounds so much nicer than that other word,” I said.
Then Miss A chimed in…”I know! I know the perfect way to describe it mom!”