The "F" Word

Tonight Dave had a dinner meeting, which meant I was on my own with the kids until bedtime.  I decided to break up the monotony of the evening by taking them to Chick Fil A for dinner.  Because: 1) delicious, and 2) playground.

'Nuff said.

While we were eating, William turned to me and politely asked "Momma, can I toot in here?".  I responded, that no, as a matter of fact, if he could PLEASE not toot in public that would be most excellent.

And before I go on, I should tell you that we say "toot" in our house.  "Fart" is not allowed.  In fact, William firmly believes that "The 'F' Word" is "fart".  And I don't plan on enlightening him as to the REAL 'F' word for, well, a LONG time.

Anyway, when I told William that I would prefer that he NOT pass gas in a crowded restaurant, he grinned and said (I swear to you) "No problem, I'll just save this one for later".

*Sigh* Boys.

After eating, the kids played on the playground for half and hour, then we loaded up in the car to head home.  As I was buckling my own seat belt, William, uh, unleashed what he'd clearly been holding in since dinner.  Let's just say that even the Russian judge would've rated this one a 10.0.  It was an impressive sound.  Manlike.  Beastlike, even.

I turned around planning to acknowledge the immensity of his emanation, but when I saw his face, I stopped short.  He was sitting there with a stunned look on his face.  And he was sort of blanched.  Horrified even.  I asked what was wrong. 

"Momma, I think I just pooped in my pants."

In my house, we refer to this as sharting.  But I wasn't about to add a word like shart to my 6 year old's lexicon.  Instead, I calmly explained that this was somewhat normal.  That it happens to everyone at some point in their lives. 

And then I faced the front and tried realllly hard not to let him see me giggling all the way home.