One thing that I may never get used to is just how blunt the boys are about their bodily functions. Not that I'm prudish but these guys have no filter. Whether we're at dinner, watching TV, or on the road, there's no difference.
Tio is king of intestinal functions. I just heard him go outside and shout out to Kit, "It's okay, I didn't shit my pants! Let's go for that bike ride now."
At supper he said, "I don't think it's a flu cause my crap was all stringy and yellow and I don't have a gut ache..." please, could you just eat your dinner and leave it alone.
He's the only person I've met who can make everyone in a open jeep wish they had another window they could roll down to escape from his farts.
There must be a direct relationship between testosterone and pride in farting. We all pass gas but for boys it's a rite of passage demostrating how loud, long and stinky it is. I wonder if they go to their first mixed dance and brag about their flatulant prowess to the girls? "You should go out with me, Becky. Jason can barely stain his cheeks but my farts can knock out my Gramm's dog." After Becky turns red or worse, laughs at him, he might adds it to the list of things not to discuss with girls anymore.
If anyone mentions vomit, Kit needs to know all the details. What kind was it? Did it have lumps or smell bad? What color was it? Who cleaned it up? The other day I found a puke filled sheet stuffed in a closet. Kit wanted to know all about it and ran downstairs to check it out. He asked not long ago, "Grampy? What was the worst puke you ever had?" Like it's something I keep track of.
Then there is Doc, the burpaholic. With an ice cream or mash potato smeared lips, a look of red faced constipated concentration crosses his face, and his eyes cloud over while he works his entire digestive system from the bowels on up, like squeezing the toothpaste tube to get the last bit, and out comes a 'blllllllarrrp!' Then his eyes refocus and he returns to this world, this reality, and smiles around at everyone saying, "Air not water." (a phrase I foolishly taught them all when they were small and learning what it takes to belch).
Three little superheroes: Barfman, the Flatch, and Little Belch. They all share a fourth power. They're like dogs when it comes to smelling things. The idea that a dog sniffs poop makes them all cry out "oooooh, gross." But find a fingerful of some bodily putty anywhere on their person or in their clothes and they hold it up proudly to their nose for a good deep whiff. They even want me to sniff it along with them like it's strawberry jam. They're completely puzzled when I turn the offer down. One will even say, "These pants smell like dung. Here Grampy, take a sniff. No? Really? Why not?"
I recall Sugar wasn't very discerning as a young girl, either but she knew where and when it was appropriate to discuss digestive illness, her period, the last time she retched. We were taught in my generation to keep it to a minimum in front of adults but these kids have no sense of propriety. I know it's all part of the war we fight to teach them manners but I'm pushing them on so many fronts that I'm surrounded.
Lose the battle, win the war. Isn't the saying? I guess this is one of the battles I can't win right now. All I can hope is that, while they get away with it at home, they don't try to impress the rest of the world when at school or visiting in the homes of their friends.
In the meantime all I can say is thanks for thinking of me, boys.
