Here we go again....

Farts and burps and giggles, oh my!

We've got guests from China again this summer. Guess what the fine young not-so-much-gentlemen are doing?

Burp! Beeelch! Giggle, giggle, teehee!

Not purposely. But still.

This year, I joked again, "Tolly, Cherry will go back to China thinking that little boys in America have no manners."

Cherry is such a lovely and earnest young lady. "Oh, no. You have very lovely little boys." I laughed and said, "Well, I expect little boys in China burp too."

"Oh yes," she replied, and laughed. "Yes, they do very much."

So, to all the Chinese mothers out there saying the Chinese version of "Oh for goodness sake. Say 'Excuse me' and move on," I salute you. And the gents send a little giggle to all of the gassy little boys.

You can fart in front of your friends....

They'll laugh at you. They'll remember and poke fun at you for the next twenty years. You may hear for the rest of your life about the weekend we all discovered you were lactose-intolerant, or the time when.... But there's no need to feel awkward, to be embarrassed, to wish to fall through the floor. You can just apologize, or not, and move on because your friends already know you fart. It's not a secret.

I spent this weekend with my dear friends. Our friendship has lasted for almost thirty years. We've been through a lot together: Marriages and divorces and careers and children and so many of the other tragedies and triumphs and challenges that life has to offer. But we've also been through the silly things. We've watched one another trip and fall on our rear ends. Misheard or misspoke to the hilarity of those around us. Goosed and been goosed. Forgotten toothbrushes, hairbrushes, keys, socks, and just about anything else that can be forgotten. Eaten fudge and cheese for dinner. Gotten lost or rained on. Scared by spiders. Scared by fake spiders. Scared by the scary waitress who brought me my "damn coffee" and insisted I order right now.

We've laughed together an awful lot. We love one another, farts and all.

So, dear reader, if you've got a friend in front of whom you cannot fart and be forgiven, gently teased, loved; if you have friends who would be shocked or offended by a fart, find new friends.

Dear friends, I love you and miss you.

Fart, fart, fart

Lovely lady, 11, participates in a weekly social group for girls with autism. The girls have become great friends, and love to giggle and joke together. A great deal of that giggling and joking lately has begun to revolve around mildly taboo words. The group leader has mentioned that she's been trying to redirect the behavior to more appropriate topics of conversation but it's been tough going.

So picture this: Two other moms and I, sitting on the couch outside the meeting room, chatting about an upcoming play involving the girls. Gales of laughter from the girls, laughing so hard that they can barely speak. We stop to listen because, naturally, we love to hear our daughters laughing. Then we begin to make out what they're saying.

"Snot. Snot snot snot snot snot."

"Fart! Fart fart fart faaaaaaaaaaart! FART!"

"Bottom!"

"Boogerboogerboogerboogerbooger!"

"Men-strooo-aaa-shun!"

"Boobs, boobs, boobs!"

You get the idea.

At first we're mildly amused. And a little taken aback, looking at one another with raised eyebrows, half laughing. Hoping, I think, that the other mothers aren't shocked by what our own child is saying. At least I was. (Mine chimed in with "fart" and "boobs," in case you're wondering.) Has the facilitator completely lost control?

Then....

beep beep beep goes a timer.

Facilitator: "Ok girls. Now that you've got that out of your system, I don't want to hear those words for the rest of group time. Agreed?"

And she didn't.

Random Notes

The Oregon Coast is just as beautiful as the eastern side of the mountains. My sisters and I visited Mom this weekend. We shopped a little, walked a little, read some, ate good food and fantastic bread, sewed and knitted. Mom gave me a hat. We laughed a lot. Who knew that my mother made fart jokes? When I was a kid I used to get in way big trouble for thinking farts were funny. Apparently you have to be an adult before you can share fart humor with others. I shared that one of the car games we'd played with the kids on our long car trip was "What's that smell?" also known as "He who smelt it, dealt it." (To be fair, once the smell really was a skunk.) My middle sister, who looks as though she'd never make a fart joke ever, shared that the average person farts fourteen times a day. Well, she primly said "passes gas." Whatever. When Mom came down the stairs a bit later with a sheepish look on her face and said, "Oops. Well, that's only five. What happens if I don't make my quota?" I hugged her and told her that it's an average. I had beans with lunch so I'd more than made up for her shortfall. So, yeah, it was a good weekend. I mean, we did other stuff too, but mostly we sat around and laughed about farts.

The weekend wasn't all fun and giggles. A dear friend's husband was badly injured. We spent a good part of the weekend worrying and grieving and praying. They've got a lot of support and strong faith to help them through this time. If you're so inclined, pray for healing and strength.

Loving husband and I celebrated our 7th wedding anniversary tonight. We ate dinner, went to the bookstore, had delicious dessert from our favorite bakery. I can't believe we've been married for seven whole years. It seems like just yesterday we were jetting off on our honeymoon. And yet, I barely remember my life without him. It's been a good seven years.

And....I still love having chickens.

Aren't they beautiful? I thought about putting a chicken poem up to go with the picture, but I can't find a chicken poem that I like. Drat that Google! I just wasted half an hour reading chicken poems. Some of them are pretty funny. But seriously, you'd think someone out there could have written one decent poem about a chicken that's just a little ridiculous and charming without being too cutesy. Kind of like chickens themselves. Maybe I'll write one myself. Well. Better not hold your breath for that one.

Oh, we talked about vomit this weekend too. Yup. Good times.

Read about Cristy's weekend here. She actually used the word "fart" on her blog. I'm telling her kids, in that neener-neener voice: "Your mom said faaa-aart."

And Meg, who would like to pretend that she was too mature to have talked about farts, here. You'd think her blog was supposed to be mostly about knitting or something. And yet, she mentions her "Fascinating Life" right in her blog title, and what's more fascinating than humorous body functions?

Peace to all of you.

Tuesday Ten: House Rules

1. Be kind to one another. It's that simple.

2. Please don't golf in your soup. This goes on the long list of bizarre things I never in my life imagined I would have to say. Picture my dismay at the three gents who imagine anything round as a golf ball, and anything stick-ish as a club. When the oldest of the fine young gents was two-and-then-some he tried using his spoon to golf his peas out of his soup. Rule #2 applies to all of those weird "never-thought-I'd-have-to-say..." moments. ("Your brother's head is not a basketball" springs to mind, as does "Don't taste that!!" Boys.)

3. Oh, for heaven's sake. Just say "Excuse me," and move on. Everyone gets gas from time to time. You'd think the novelty would have worn off by now, but noooooooooooooooooo. Really, it's not as funny (or, alternately, as embarrassing) as you think.

4. No hitting. This includes kicking, pinching, poking, biting, pushing, bumping, and any other kind of physical contact with the intent to harm or bother.

4 1/2. For goodness sake, if I say "Don't hit your brother," you may not say "But Mom, I was just doing this." Particularly if it's followed by a demonstration. I'm not blind, nor am I confused. I saw it the first time, which is why I told you to stop. And along that line....

5. You may not say "But I was just...." I saw you. I already know what you're doing. I'm not blind, nor am I confused. I saw it the first time, which is why I told you to stop. There is no explanation that will make it ok that you are chasing the cat, sticking out your tongue at your sister, or showing your chewed food to your brother. I am also not inclined to believe that the true intent of that fist heading rapidly toward your brother's head was just a friendly pat on his hair.

6. Bleah. Stop picking your nose.

7. Close it, pick it up, turn it off, put it away. I am your mother, not your maid.

8. Just don't. I cannot possibly think of every little thing that your impish little imaginations can conceive. So, whatever it is, just don't.

9. Treat the other people in the family the way you'd like to be treated. Be kind. Be honest. Be fair. Be patient. Be respectful.

10. Love each other. You don't have to like one another every moment of the day. But find and nurture the love in your hearts for each other.

Cristy's Tuesday Ten House Rules.

NO GAS NEXT 46 MILES

We're a little past the halfway point on our trip clear across the state, an eight-hour journey. I'd gotten out of bed at 3:00, yes that's a.m., poured myself two giant travel mugs of coffee, rousted the kids out of bed at 3:30 and loaded them in the car thinking they'll sleep most of the trip away. (They didn't). Sooooo..........to recap: Up way too early, way too much coffee, driving and driving and driving with kids up way too early and giddy with excitement. I'm a little punchy.

The travel information sign on the side of the freeway reads: NO GAS NEXT 46 MILES.

Can you see where this is going? I make a really bad gas joke and giggle. One lovely lady is kind enough to give a courtesy laugh, the other doesn't hear me through her headphones, and their very polite lovely young cousin pretends she didn't hear me. I don't think her mom makes jokes about passing gas (scroll down to the last paragraph), at least not around the kids. The fine young gents, on the other hand...the very literal five-year-old gent reminds me that (Duh, Mom) it means gas for the car, and three-year-old gent worries that the gas police will get us if he accidentally farts.

The baby thinks it's funny mommy laughed, so he laughs too. He's my new favorite kid.

I have finally discovered the way to put the kibosh on the kids making fart jokes: Make them myself.