Makin' Whoopie

This story isn't about what you're thinking.  There are people from my church that read this blog, and I would like to show my face around town in the future.  Instead, this posting is about the one toy in my house I have come to hate.  I dislike it with a fiery passion that burns even stronger than that evil green frog in the bathroom.  Even hotter than waking up early to a Saturday morning disaster.  More intensely than my hideous shower-- okay, maybe not as much as the shower.  But I still don't like it.  Seriously.

You see, my children have a whoopie cushion.  A gift from Bamma (aka Grandma), the toy began as a silly novelty for Cael on his third birthday.  He opened it, glanced back and forth between Joel and I with a look of confusion, and after a demonstration from Daddy that showed the sounds it produced, he was hooked.



But there was still some hesitation.  He liked the idea of anything that could produce a "toot" sound, and I had to admit that, although anything that promotes passing gas is not usually a favorite of mine, this particular toy kept Cael from providing us with the real thing, and for that I was thankful.

I had to learn slowly, and over time, that not all people are blessed to grow up in a gas-free home like I did.  No need to learn about discretion through trial and error; no embarrassing conversations after a smelly scene in school or church.  It was something you just didn't do.  When I held my own child in my arms as a newborn I used to dream about who he would become.  I saw Cael and his big blue eyes, his curls and spirited smile, and I expected that he would follow in his Dad's footsteps and enjoy athletics and music.  I dreamed that he would be funny and kind, and I hoped he would always treat people with respect.

I didn't think he'd be farting the whole time, though.

So there goes my prediction.  He is (or will be) all of those other things and so much more, but I guess he will have to search a little harder to find a nice, mannerly girl that can overlook his crassness and sometimes inappropriate sense of humor to see the warm and loving person within.  I have faith that it can be done. Not that I have any personal experience in that area...

After establishing that Cael was too far gone to save, I turned my efforts to Graham.  The more gentle and quiet one of the two, he was the one I'd be most likely to keep on the straight and narrow path.  But "monkey see, monkey do", and when one monkey likes to slam his rear end down on a sponge-filled rubber balloon, the other can't be far behind.

After watching that video, you might be pointing your finger at me and asking, "Why would you let this continue?"  But I maintain that I am not to blame for my kids' improprieties.  Bamma, the original gifter of this smelly sound-maker, brought this contraption into our home and our lives, so I think I should be acquitted of all blame.  After all, I did learn my lesson and left her most recent gift in the cabinet.

I may be outnumbered, but I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve...



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