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Monday, December 22, 2008

Jumpin’ Jack Flash, It’s A Gas, Gas, Gas

Knowing that I may lose whatever respect you may have developed for me – that is respect you’re developing for me, right? – it is possible that the time has come to expand on the note I scribbled in my notebook a month ago.

The note?

“My son’s got gas.”

So small, isn’t it? A four-word sentence with more gravity, more depth, than one little sentence has a right to.

It’s not like there isn’t a warning beforehand. There’s a look on his face that I’ve come to recognize, immediately followed by a two-word precursor to a potentially life-changing event. Like the imperial command “Scratch” – my cue to run my nails along his back until dismissed – there is also a far more subtle “Hey, Mom” – followed by an almost Mona-Lisa-like smile – that makes me run out of the room.

Why would a loving mother, a woman interested in what comes after “hey…” no matter who says it, go skittering out of a room as fast as possible after such a statement?

Because like I said, my son’s got gas.

Don’t get me wrong. This is not regular gas; not “whoops! sorry about that” gas; but hair-frying, clothes-wrinkling, room-clearing gas.

I hold myself responsible. Was it something I ate during pregnancy? Should I have not eaten only Mexican food, potatoes drenched in Tabasco, those little canned oranges and, so help me God, canned sardines?

Perhaps it has something to do with my weather-predicting hair? Could the ability to stenchify whole rooms be The Boy’s equivalent of my ability to detect humidity?

I’ve lost your respect, haven’t I?


The Retired One said...

No wonder you have to resort to alcohol. HA
(Remember not to get too close with your drink, it might be dangerous!)

derfina said...

And they think it is so FUNNY.

*shakes head* Boys.

Barbara Blundell said...

Don't strike a match in his vicinity either

Sweet Cheeks said...

My sympathies Pearl Dear...
As I only had daughters I didn't suffer this calamity. However, I think that you should immediately inform your son that the 'Breaking of Wind' is a sacred ritual to be shared ONLY between the men of the tribe. Then suggest the best time to share it. When father and son are alone and in small spaces such as in the car- waiting while you run into the store...yes, that's perfect. :)

Braja said...

You haven't lost my respect, but I won't be visitin' when the son is in the country....

a mouthy irish woman? ridiculous! said...

shit sister. join the club. how do you think i knew about the term "crop-dusting"?

i've raised two of them. ones 19, ones 9 and they still think its funny to fart in the car and then lock the windows so i can't get air.


Ann's Rants said...

My in-laws have a tradition of just lowering the power windows without saying a word. I cracked up the first time I experienced it.

Kavi said...

Now, that explains the beer story ! Ok. I get it ! I mean the connection !

Tabby ~ Godzchyld said...

LOL...I am so guilty of this, so I'll sit quietly in the corner now. LOL

Fida said...

I have as much fun reading your blog as I have reading the answers. You trigger buttons, girl...

ladyfi said...

LOL! My son is the same and he's only 5!! Oh - and then there's the dog.. don't make me go there!!

Brother Tobias said...


(Where P denotes the pressure of the system, V is the volume of the gas and k is a constant value representative of the pressure and volume of the system).

He may be a genius.

Skywalker said...

I fear for my own future children at that post (I refuse to admit/deny any smell).

Room clearing...it can't be that bad. Do you at least laugh it off? I would.

Steve said...

So there you have it. Modern man's propensity for chemical warfare starts in the home...

Amy@Bitchin'WivesClub said...

My family has the distinct displeasure of living with ME, the gassiest woman alive. Wait, can I post this anonymously?!?!?

Pearl said...

Hi, Retired One.
Sometimes it's all I can do to stay sober... :-)

Hi, Derfina.
And he's 24!!!

Hi, Barbara.
I'll have to post a pic sometime. He's so angelic looking, too!

Hi, Sweet Cheeks.
That's an excellent point.

Hi, Braja.
It's a terrible thing, and I don't blame you.

Hi, Irish Woman.
He got me under a blanket once. "Dutch Oven". :-)

Hi, Ann.
I think that would make a wonderful comedy sketch!

Hi, Kavi.
As long as it's the connection you're getting and not something else!

Hi, Tabby.

Hi, Fida.
It's the only reason I write, just to see what people say. :-)

Hi, Ladyfi,
Oooh! You have my sympathies!!

Hi, Brother Tobias,
AHHH! NOW it makes sense! :-)

Hi, Skywalker,
Actually, I do laugh it off. He did catch me under a blanket once (see above's reference to a "Dutch Oven") and that brought back memories of my brother doing the very same thing...

Hi, Steve.
Doesn't bode well for us, does it?

Hi, Amy.
You were never here...


justsomethoughts... said...

laugh-out-loud funny stuff.
you've gained my....ummm....respect immeasurably.

Eric S. said...

LOL. OK, we have to be sure not to let your son and my niece, NM, get together in any way shape or form. She has the most horrid gas, and should be required to wear a sign warning all those around her to grab for their handy dandy gas masks. I have actually seen her clear a classroom, yet remain sitting with the most angelic smile on her face.

Pearl said...

Hi, justsomethoughts,
Thank.... ummmmmmm, you. :-D

Hi, Steve.
I know I'm going to regret this, but kinda makes ya wonder, doesn't it? What IS up their butt?

Oh, see. I regret that already...


Blue Blaze Irregular #1 said...

Not understanding all the hate here...if your son is less than 10 years old, this virtually ensures him of Godlike Popularity at school. If he's older, then he has the most potent conversation avoidance technique known to man...and, man, I wish I had that skill at most of the "functions" I am forced to attend.

Given the pluses, think of the occasional home stink bomb as an expression of love. :)

Pearl said...

Hi, Blue Blazer.
No, no! No hate here. Bewilderment, perhaps! A genetic predisposition to stench-avoidance, perhaps!
The Boy is 24. :-)

p.s. I kid you not, my WV is "beerseat". I swear.