POTTY TALK AND OTHER FORMS OF ENTERTAINMENT

If we could get paid for the natural gas on our property we would be rich. Rarely does a day go by that somebody doesn't do something that rumbles and smells. It doesn't end with these Oscar worthy performances. The planning, describing and reminiscing of said noises could win a Pulitzer Prize.

I can remember, when very young, popping up from the backseat of the car and proudly (and obnoxiously) asking, "WHO STINKIED?" I was quickly "shushed" by my mother as my dad did his best to hide his chuckle. Proud he was to have a daughter so acutely aware of the important things in life....only to be quashed by the female in the family.

Today, it's an embarrassing phenomenon. I try to be the proper mother, but am sadly outnumbered by these rude, crude and socially unacceptable males who are not only adept, but darn proud of what they can make their bodies do. Realizing my defeat (and not wanting to admit it) I have decided that I can accept these occurrences, as long as the audience includes the immediate family ONLY! Though they can scarcely understand how the grandparents (well the grandmother, anyway) truly aren't proud of their accomplishments.

Not only have these fumes been able to peel paint from the walls, but they have been known to save lives...or at least make it a bit easier.

"How," you ask?

Let me explain.

MANY times, I've had to scold my oldest for something such as hitting a brother, taking a toy, hitting a brother, talking back, hitting a brother, not instantly obeying...you get the picture. And often, right slap in the middle of said scolding, with a VERY serious look, my oldest will ask in a whisper, "Do you smell that, Mom?"

Now, how can I compete with that? I mean, think about it. These little noises of rumbles and fluff were cute in the past....much like baby's first "doody." Now these noxious odors could kill a cat. Once a parent realizes the difference between cute and horrid...well, frankly, it is often too late.

It doesn't end in air turbulence. Often, I hear one son beckoning from the bathroom to another son, "COME LOOK!" My children, though young, are very well-versed in...heh...I'll let you imagine.

When sick with any type of tummy ailment, it is not unheard of for the well child to ask (with an abundance of sympathy, of course), "Did you throw up?" AND with weakened utterances, the puny child will give a very clear description of all symptoms, sounds and smells that accompany said ailment.

So infiltrated is my home that even on the bookshelves, resides a funny little character named "Captain Underpants." In fact, my son just finished reading, "Captain Underpants and the Preposterous Plight of the Purple Potty People." These are great reads for boys...actually, you could just come over for dinner and get a lot of the same stuff.

Alas, I am a parent outnumbered. Even when my partner in crime is home, he is more THEIR partner than mine. The boys are apprentices in this art. Perhaps some day we will host and Olympic game, of sorts.

You know what? Bad Idea!