Monday, November 4, 2013

My Daddy Farted


In previous posts, I have written about the numerous embarrassing moments that come with parenting a 3 year old.  All of these moments seem to happen at my expense.  I’m pretty sure I’m the only one lucky enough to have gotten to discuss wieners (not the hot dog variety) while walking through Target.  Little K does not have an inside voice.  Not at all.

LK: Mom?  Do you have a wiener?
M: No buddy, girls don’t have those.
LK: Girls don’t have wieners?!
M: Ssshhh.  No.
LK: You don’t have a wiener?
M: No, Little K, I don’t have one.
LK: Say it mom.
M: What?
LK: Say the word.
M: What?
LK: Say you don’t have a wiener.
M: Buddy I don’t have one.
LK: No, say WIENER, mom!

My darling husband hasn’t ever had to experience one of these moments… until Saturday.  Mr. B took Little K to dinner and a movie so that I could take a turn hosting my monthly cooking club at our house.  While they were seated at Dairy Queen, Little K's booster seat made a squeaking noise on the booth seat.

LK (leaning over to the woman sitting next to him): My daddy farted.
MB: Little K!  No I didn’t!
LK: Yes you did!  I heard it!
MB: No, it was the booth.  I didn’t fart.
LK: Yes you did!  You farted!
MB: Hush.  No I didn’t.
LK (again to the woman sitting next to him): He did.  My daddy farted.  I heard it.

When Mr. B told me about this, I laughed.  An evil laugh of justification.  A laugh that made my stomach muscles hurt and tears come to my eyes.  And, even though Mr. B had been “Dad of the Year” all day long, I told him that it was about damn time something like that happened to him!


Then I was reminded me of a time Mr. B and I were eating at a small Mennonite café with my parents.  It has been a long-running joke in my family that my dad has worms (he doesn’t) because of his insatiable appetite.  He is a relatively small and thin guy, but could eat his weight in anything (besides vegetables) more than a few times a day.  We often say things like, “Time to feed your worms, Daddy?”  Anyway, we were all at the Mennonite café one very quiet morning eating breakfast.  There was no music playing, no chatter, no clattering of dishes.  It was quiet, despite the many patrons – most of whom were Mennonite.  For some reason, I chose that moment to feed my curiosity (I don’t really know what kind of worms would make someone feel hungry all the time) and said, “What kind of worms do you have, Daddy?  Tape worms?”

The women at the table next to me not only snarled their noses and curled up their lips, they set down their forks and declared themselves full.  Several tables full of people stared at us in disgust.

It is now that I realize, I deserve any embarrassment that 
Little K may cause.  My parents have been long-suffering at my expense, and my adulthood hasn’t spared them much.  I suppose I should be proud that I have obviously passed down the I-didn’t-realize-this-was-a-horrible-time-to-say-that-can-I-please-somehow-make-this-situation-more-awkward gene.  Hopefully he continues to be funny too.




Be awkward.  Love yourself.  And thank you for keeping me In Good Company.

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