Farts. Yes, I said it....FARTS.

Living with nothing but organisms of the male species in this vast lonesome valley of estrogen I call home, I have come to accept that farts are like treasured precious pearls gathered from the furthest, most remote Tahitian Island.

Farts are funny, it seems. Small ones, big ones, wet ones, long and short ones....they all bring joy to even the smallest male in the house. The Fourthling can barely contain his excitement when he rips a big one.

Now, I like a good long fart just as much as the next fat girl eating at the all you can eat buffet, but only because I feel like I've just lost 10 pounds in relieving my digestive system of such ghastly nuisances.


I don't enjoy doing it.

I don't like the smell.

I just like the after effect. Who doesn't?!

The Halfling, being of sound age and mind, is especially fond of farts. He's 7, all he has are farts to entertain him. If it is not coming out of his ass, it's his fucking mouth. I have to constantly remind him the no one else thinks fart noises are funny. Just him. All by his lonesome. A boy and his farts.

I can hear him in his bed at night giggling and farting his way into a dreamland.

And then there is the digital camera that records 15 second videos. While cleaning out his room, I found it filled with nothing but videos of him making fart noises and laughing. And there were a few videos of real farts and more laughs. And then there was a video of his BFF Kevin farting.

And don't get me started on armpit farts.

This is a current intelligent conversation I had with him:
Me (The Mom): "Oh, Halfling...Did you fart in the car again? It stinks!"
The Halfling: "No, it was The Fourthling!"
Me: "No, that is NOT a Fourthling fart, you did it. Own up to it!"
The Halfling: "I can't help it. I just love farting and I love the smell so much!"
Me: (Rolling Eyes)

Now, don't be disturbed that I know the difference between The Fourthling's farts and The Halfling's farts. It's a Mom thing.

(I think)

(Or at least I tell myself that)

(I might also add here that I have a very sensitive nose)

Besides, I am appalled that my son, the very creature I gave birth to 7 years ago, likes the smell of his farts. Sick.

And before you (general you) get all on your high horse about "potty words". Yes, we use potty words in great abundance in our house. Fart, pee, poopy, stinky face, poopy pants, poo poo face, peepee lover, etc. are all used and well-loved. Go ahead and call DFACS on me. I'm ready. Just make sure you turn yourself in for not having a fucking sense of humor. *Smooches!*

I may never fully understand the male species and thier obsession with the things that exit their asses, mouths, and armpits... but I do know this: farts are not funny, unless they are blog material.

And that is totally different.

Totally.

Since I am on a roll today.

Funny and true story:

When my brother, Robbie Rat, was about 5 or 6 years of age we had a cat named Peanut. She was our friend. We loved on her, dressed her up, cut her whiskers off numerous times, picked her up by her tail and other fun loving family activities. Typical kid stuff. She tolerated us to a point, then she would attack and run away. We absolutely loved to make her meow. It was the little things that entertained us. Simple folk, we were. When we wanted her to meow, we would squeeze her in the fattest part of her middle until she made this hilarously funny meowing sound. It was like kitty constipation noises. We thought it was pretty damn funny, so we did this often. And before all you animal activists get your panties all in a wad...we didn't hurt her...she liked it. She was a closet sadist. So, deal, ok? So, we'd squeeze and laugh and laugh and squeeze. The sound, if you can imagine it, sounded like, "Uuuuhhhmmmmmmaaaaarrrrrrowwwwwwwwww." Kind of like the sound of a cat makes late at night when talking politics with the neighbor cats and things get heated.
My Aunt had just had her first baby boy, Allen. He was only a couple of weeks old and one night my dear brother was talking to her on the phone about the new baby. Robbie Rat was insistent on hearing the baby talk. My Aunt kept telling him that he was sleeping, but that he would make noises for him over the phone later. This answer wasn't good enough for the rat. He was an expert at extracting noises from creatures that otherwise did not want to make noise. He promptly told her, "Just squeeze him really hard and then he will talk, I promise!"

I will have you know that Robbie is now studying to become a Vet. I bet he squeezes all those cats when no one is looking though.