On Farts

WARNING: this entry contains immature and junior-highish bathroom humor. At the moment, I'm laughing my head off. I may very well be embarrassed of it come morning, but too bad. I've sworn to never retract an entry. And you KNOW I've wanted to!

Two weeks ago, I walked into the boys' classroom to pick them up from Mother's Day Out. They attend "school" at a Baptist church nearby, and their teachers are very nurturing and proper Baptist ladies. Near the door of the classroom, they have a "Prayer Corner". It's a cabinet with the door removed, which creates a little cubby just big enough for a preschooler to climb in to. Inside the cubby is a nap mat with a blue cover on it, and pictures of Jesus adorn the wall. I'm not sure if they use the Prayer Corner at school or not, or if it's there for the church's Sunday School class. I've never asked. But two weeks ago, I walked into that classroom to find both of my boys in that little cubby. With their heads on the blue mat and their butts high in the air. They looked at me from between their legs and said, in unison, "SMELL MY STINKY BOTTOM!!"

And I swear on the penguin, I laughed. Then I remembered that I'm supposed to be a good Momma, so I chided them. "Get OUT of that Prayer Corner! That is NOT nice to say!" But inside, I was rippin' one myself - and laughin'.

Farts are a funny thing. I was tellin' my good friend Martha tonight... I'm like a ten year-old boy when it comes to farts. They crack me up. Always have. I blame it on my Dad.

After all, he was the one who taught us kids how to lift a leg when we needed to rip one. He's the one who would stand up from his recliner, blow a huge one, and then run from it, as if it were trying to kill him. HYSTERICAL. He's the one who, upon finding both bathrooms occupied one evening, ran around the house from the living room, through the front entry hall, through the play room, down the hall past the bathroom, back through the living room... going in that circle over and over and over at top speed, holding a cheek in each hand, ripping little toots with every step. We learned at a young age that bodily functions were FUNNY. My Mom was always mortified. Which made it even more funny.

In high school, my brother got a bright idea. He stood in the garage with his friends, pulled down his drawers, and with one friend holding the nozzle on a spray paint can and another with a lighter, ripped a huge one. David always could fart on command. In fact, I do believe he could've farted the ABCs if you'd asked him to. That day, his talent caught fire and singed his butt hairs. I have never. laughed. so. hard in my entire. life as I did that day.

My friend Sue (not the one in Michigan) tells a great story. She was in yoga class one night, and found herself in some weird position where only her neck was on the floor. The rest of her body was on the wall... with her back to the wall, and her legs Indian-style. The instructor told the class to slowly bring their knees down, and Sue said it was like she became a human bellows. With each centimeter that her legs lowered, her abdomen released air. It got louder and louder and louder, this huge whooooosh, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Finally, it ended with a prolonged squeak. She stood, walked proudly out of the class and never looked back. The first time I heard her tell the story, I just about gave birth to my Adam's Apple I was laughing so hard!

Martha and I think that men like to smell their farts. 'Twas true of my Dad. He was loud and proud. But the more it stank, the more he clucked. Darren's much more polite than my Dad was, but every now and then, we'll be laying in bed and he'll say, "Sorry." It's a catch-22, really. If he fans the covers to dissipate the stench, it'll instead just waft it right up my nose. But if he leaves the covers alone, then I start worrying that the acid is gonna eat through my skin. Usually, I roll off my side of the bed and protest, "DARREN! Disgusting! That's not even HUMAN!" And in the dark, I can see the green cloud rise from the sheets. And then, we laugh. 'Cause farts are funny.

Last weekend, Those Who Shall Remain Nameless discovered that one does not need to turn the jets on to get bubbles in a hot tub. And tonight, I learned that a fart executed while sitting in a wooden chair is amplified. In fact, I thought I heard the wood split at first. Darren turned around and said, "WHAT THE???" Then we both cracked up.

My friend Joe recalls that the first time he smiled the first month that his son Ira was in the NICU was when Ira farted. He wondered if that was okay. I cheered him on. "I hope Ira continues to fart," I wrote, "'cause I want you to LAUGH!" 'Cause EVERYone knows... farts are funny.

Well, not everyone. I have two friends who are probably ready to disown me. Karen couldn't even bring herself to fart in front of her husband. The day she finally farted in front of me was a joyous occasion. I knew then that our friendship was real. And then there's Jean. She'd be appalled. This entry would probably color (in a cloud of green) her whole image of me. Thank goodness she doesn't read this blog.

But s'okay. There's always Martha.