Round II

Growing up with 2 brothers, I feel they have equipped me well to raise 2 sons. To say my brothers were merciless to me is being kind. Worse than the fat jokes (I topped the scales at 152 lbs in the 6th grade), was their constant engagement in bodily function warfare. Their weapon of choice, farts.

With one of them pinning down my arms and legs, the other would sit upon my head. They usually aimed for the mouth, but the eyes, ears, or nose would suffice. Really anywhere they could fit their ass to unleash the fury that laid within. If there was only one of them, he physically couldn't bring me down (152 lbs had some benefits). So he would come running into the room, fart as loud as possible, then run away, laughing. They called that a 'sneak attack.' Or, if I was on the phone, they would pick up the other line and fart into it. Better known as 'sending an SOS'.

My brothers were like generals, treating fart warfare like it was a science. They studied and charted when they were the most gaseous and how they could use that to their advantage. Years of research proved that when they farted into my older brother's Planet of the Apes garbage can, the smell had more staying power. They even figured out which specific foods my mother cooked would result in the most noxious smell. Incidentally it was sausages and scalloped potatoes in the early years and today, wings and dark beer yield the same effect - no, I'm not kidding.

Every college break, I would return home in hopes that the phase would have passed. Nope. They spent the time honing their skills. There was no longer a need to pin me down as they had perfected their guerrilla warfare tactics. The 'drop and roll', fart standing up next to the victim, then drop down to the floor to avoid the smell; 'snoozer sneak attack', fart loud enough to wake the person up, then run quickly from their room to avoid the smell; or my favorite, the 'all out ambush', where both of them would come and sit on either side of me on the couch to watch TV then just let loose (usually after some scallop potatoes or sausage). I still laugh, and cringe, every time I think about it.

Charlie has entered into the potty talk phase where he's become very aware of his bodily functions. Like his uncles, he loves not only to fart (or tootie, as he calls them), but to talk about farts every chance he gets. He wants me to listen to his farts, 'Hey Mommy, that tootie was so loud, Nani and Papa heard it all the way in Florida.' To smell them, 'Whoa, Mommy, what is that smell?' I don't know, Charlie, what is it? 'Oh, it was just my tootie and boy does it stink.' He even sings about them,
'Old McDonald had a toot.
Tootie, tootie, toot.
And on that toot there was poop.
Poopy, poopy, poop.
With a toot tooot here and poop poop there,
Here a toot, there a poop, everywhere a toot poop.
Old McDonald was a yucky,
Toot, toot, toot, toot, toot, TOOOOOOT!'

This is usually followed by roaring laughter (both mine and his), for a good 2 minutes. I know this only encourages the behavior. You would think after 30 plus years of being oppressed by farts, I would have had my fill and would want to teach Charlie that they're gross and to be avoided. But it's so ingrained in me and was such a huge part of my upbringing. I feel farts/tooties contain a valuable life lesson, if you just look for it, or smell it (hee hee).

Farts are funny. They represent humor at it's most basic, human level. They are the great equalizer. No matter how rich, powerful, or important you become, regardless of race, ethnicity or religion, everyone farts. Barack Obama, Queen Elizabeth (though she only passes gas), Osama Bin Laden, even Gwyneth Paltrow, are no better than you or me, they all fart. Everyone does. Except for Joaquin Phoenix and Matt Damon, they smell of nothing but ivory soap and Old Spice.