Wednesday, February 6, 2013


Anyone who knows Benny and I, know that the standing argument that we have is his - oh, what's a nice way to say it? - gaseous emissions from... there.   Look at me? Only took having two kiddos for me to tone down the toot rhetoric.  I'M GROWING.

Anyway, the last week has been eye-opening for him.  Apparently my complaining about it has failed to even make a dent in his "Toots Happen" life philosophy.  No matter how many times I throw a pillow at his head or spray Lysol directly on him, the question that pops out of his mouth is:  "Oh... does it smell?  My bad."

Fifteen years.  Fifteen years we've been together... 14.5 of which I have had to wipe grey matter off of the ceiling when my brain explodes due to this particular hobby - YES.  HOBBY. - of his.  For the sake of my sanity, I have taken to rationalizing it.  It's okay... because he fixes my bike flats.  It's okay... because he makes a mean chili.  It's okay... because he doesn't complain when I haven't folded done laundry in a month.  It's okay... because I can always go outside.  Unless he's outside.  And then it's okay... because I can always leave town.

But last week... well, let's just say being called out by your daughters had a different effect on him than I anticipated.  I mean, your 2-year-old calls you out for your loud toot, or your 3-year-old covers her nose in the back of the truck and tells you that you're stinky... you would think that would be humiliating. Right?


Because the 2-year-old?  She laughs at toots.  She'll call you out... and then she'll laugh.  And the 3-year-old?  She has the same tummy troubles as Daddy. So most of the time when she covers her nose and calls someone stinky, it's because SHE'S the one who dealt it. Which leaves Mommy out in the cold.  Which is entirely unfair because Mommy had been banking on the new girls in the house being able to shame Daddy into leaving the room when he needed to toot.

Cut to last week where I finally figured out that the 3-on-1 Mommy thought she would have is actually 1-on-3.  As we were reading a story before bed, Benny sat on a frog. (Another phrase we use in the house.  Think barking spiders... but since spiders are not allowed to live in our house, we have to be creative.)  At the noise, The Bean looked up, focused in on Daddy, pointed at him and said:  "Daddy!  Tooted!"

Benny was a little stunned, but held it together without smiling and recovered by saying:  "I'm sorry.  Excuse me."

To which The Bean exclaimed:  "Tank you!!!" And proceeded to go back to the Dr. Seuss book we were reading. 

As if the conversation never happened. 

As if it was just totally OK to ruin story time with that and not be held accountable because you said you were sorry!

And here's where the tables turned on me.  For good.  I was laughing.  Not because of the toot, but because of the reaction of my youngest and just the absurdity of the entire situation.  Both girls looked at me strangely as I tried to finish the book through tears and laughter.  Which is when Benny tried to claim that because I was laughing, the girls think tooting is okay. 

As if this whole thing is MY fault.

And then.... then last night happened.  The Bean was in our room as we were making the bed and wouldn't you know?  Daddy stepped on a frog.  Again.  Right next to her.  With no regard for her current vertical handicap.  As I looked at him with disdain in my eye, The Bean started laughing.... and then completely forgot the Mommy-Daughter bond that we're SUPPOSED to be sharing.

"Mommy tooted!"

If I hadn't been so dumbstruck that she blamed me for it, I would have set her right and gently explained that Mommy... she doesn't toot.  EVER.  That was all Daddy.  So that finger you're pointing at me?  Needs to be pointed OVER THERE.

Yea.  That would have been the appropriate response.  Not falling onto the bed in a fit of giggles like I did. 

So, apparently, I've taught both girls their first swear words and to laugh at toots. My one success is that they call them toots.  Yay me.


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