Apr 27 2009
In the game
This is a subject that most people find just slightly uncomfortable
enough to talk about in public. Including me. And unlike certain
members of my household -- like my children, for example -- sitting
around and…uh…shall we say….uh…cutting the cheese…just isn’t my style.
In fact, I think it’s pretty gross. After all, it was NOT the way I was
raised. My dad didn’t pass gas in front of us girls. My mother would
have given him hell. Still, considering one of his nicknames for my
baby sister was Motor Boat, he did manage to sneak in an occasional wind-breaking
joke now and again. And while Paul’s mom says he wasn’t raised that way
either, I know that his dad was notorious for letting em go at the
dinner table.
Taking after their father’s side of the family, my kids have no
qualms about burping and tooting. In fact, they show a lot of talent in
the gas department. Nathan comes up with some extremely humongous burps
(think Barney on The Simpsons), and Lucie’s gas output is extremely
impressive for such a petite, feminine little girl.
So in the spirit of if-you-can’t-beat-them-join-them, I now stock up
on the scented candles and play this game with my kids. Why have I gone
over to the dark side? I think it’s the manic laughter that accompanies
all the naughty behavior. It’s amazing how something as ordinary as a
bodily function provides so much entertainment for my family.