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 imperious command of “Scratch” – my cue to run my nails along his back until I am 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?
About Bob Dylan
4 days ago
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29 comments:
Well, we are what we eat, so they say, and surely it starts before birth, because never again are we so much in the process of turning into a person...no, not even in our teens.
And the link to your weather-predicting hair post - oh, thank you! I get about 5 days a year that my hair behaves. The rest of the time it is doing those things you described.
I still respect you Pearl, though thousands wouldn't : )
On a side note, my son's are not permitted to pass gas in my air space. Is vorboten! But I do the back scratching on demand.
I understand completely - I used to live with a Labrador Retriever! She ate everything, and .....
Whole family of gassies over here....I'm with you...they seem to seek me out just to "vent" so to speak.
It won't always be thus;-)
Hah! Just read yesterdays post! In Mexico this past December with my sisters I met a coupla Minnesotans, Alice and Joanne, they had husbands with them but I don't remember their names. Every time they talked I thought "Aha! Thats how Pearl must sound!" So now I read you in the correct accent : ) Those girls were so fun and nice!
Canadians love you right back, Pearl : D And again, I have a crush on your Dad.
Well some people just have that "ability" and some don't. Though I'm not so blessed I do live with a very notable "fartist".
Don't feel bad, my daughter is the same way.
My oldest daughter has always made the loudest and longest burps in the history of the world. I've never heard anyone beat her. But at least they don't smell!
My son was a burper. too! ♥
My son is not allowed to eat at White Castle because it creates within him some freakish kind of nerve gas. A teaching colleague of mine allowed her son to have my boy and some others over for the day. She bought them a Crave Case. The next morning, her pet bird was dead on the bottom of his cage.
This is why my family won't let me eat lentils.
awwww :D my brother caused a little asian lady to run screaming back into her apartment when he sneezed and farted as she was walking out of her door......
Sometimes you just gotta run. Fight or flight and we all know that's not a fair fight!
Pearl! You've just solved the mystery of the Mona Lisa smile! This totally explains the crooked burnt looking background to that painting. Poor Leonardo. No wonder he gave up painting and went on to inventing things. No need to deal with those Italians and their garlic problems.
P.S. My condolences and at least he warns you.
Yes, boys and gas (and men and gas and dogs and gas--dogs are the worst) make us learn to run fast.
If you have not read the "Walter the Farting Dog" picture books, check them out at the library or the book store (don't buy them, just plop down and read them for free). Walter and his gas saves the day in each one (I think there's 4 or 5.)
You are not alone; my husband could give your son a run for his money!
Again...SOOOO glad I have girls. Not that they don't have gas...but it's not room clearing and noxious.
Of COURSE you are responsible! The mothers are always responsible!!! Could you not harness this power for good?
One gassy post will not make me lose respect for you, Pearl. In fact, I want more, MORE gassy posts!
My boy enjoys letting rip in public, yes it's like a hobby to him. I can no longer visit libraries, museums or the like again.
"hair-frying, clothes-wrinkling, room-clearing gas."
The only thing you left out, and this phrase is my gift to you, is "nostril hair singeing". :-D
Heh heh heh.
Because that's all there is left...
Your son and my cat would make perfect roommates. I'm not sure what it is with my cat, but she loves to curl in your lap, fall asleep, and let loose with foul kitty SBDs.
Like everyone else I loved it. But you also left out 'paint stripping' and 'eye watering'. Both of these things I am unfortunately familiar with.
Pearl, I see here a convergence of two of my favorite bloggers. Sandra is having an ill effect on you. You are the funny but clean and family-respectful one, Sandra is the dirty-secret-revealing one. Don't cross the lines, I'm confused!
My first husband had (has?) that same room clearing ability.
At least it's in the family.
You have not lost my respect. You can't lose what you never had! Bah Da Boom!
I do however, totally respect your weather predicting hair...
Our dog is the worst, he can clear a room in seconds. Thanks for visiting.
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