My son—who shall remain nameless—is almost eight, and he has a wicked sense of humor. I mean ‘wicked’ both ways, as in ‘terrific’ and ‘slightly evil’. He just makes me laugh. Last night, I about lost it. My mom had come over for dinner. She started updating us on everything and my son ran from the table. I thought, huh, guess he doesn’t want to listen to Nana. Then I heard “Oh, man, oh, MAN!” coming from the bathroom.
When you hear that, it’s never good. Apparently, women say that when they have a baby in the bathroom and didn’t know they were pregnant. (Though, thankfully, I knew this would not be the case with my son.)
I knocked on the door.
SON: (frantic whisper) Get in here, ma.
I entered, and quickly shut the door behind me to find my son sitting on the toilet, looking depressed. Sort of like that thinker on the stone sculpture.
ME: Are you okay?
SON: Yeah. I’m fine. I mean, all things considering, yeah but…oh, man…ma…I…I did a poop fart.
ME: (pause) Huh?
SON: A. Poop. Fart. I thought I had to fart so I did, but it wasn’t a fart. Man, it wasn’t a fart AT ALL. I did a poop fart! A POOP FART!
ME: Well, sheesh, relax. It’s fine. I mean it’s hard to tell the difference sometimes.
SON: Have YOU ever done a poop fart?
ME: Okay. Let’s get you cleaned up. Take everything off, I’ll run a bath. This will be fine.
Meanwhile, my mom was still talking at the dinner table. I ran the bath, my son sprinted naked through the house saying: “Oh man, oh man”, and then I washed him down.
Then I went back to eating dinner while my mom still chatted on. When you’re a parent, you develop an iron stomach, so I was able to go back and eat crab legs as if nothing had ever happened. I ate those crab legs up even after my daughter said: “You’re breaking its bones!!”
Kealoha said: “It’s an exoskeleton, sweetie.” And then dipped his crab in butter.