It’s Sunday dinner. My husband, two kids, and I are sitting peacefully around the family table. A magnificent feast is set before us: pasta with beef sauce, creamy rice with chicken chunks, green beans, tater tots, and Kobe beef sliders–all leftovers. Thankfully, our children are not yet at ages where they want their food reheated, so our feast is cold to conserve our energy for the exhausting evening of sitting on the couch watching TV after the kids go to bed.
About halfway through the meal, while I’m marveling at the wonder that is how much pasta a one-year-old girl is capable of consuming, my son asks for a tater tot. I look over to see him playing with two tater tots he already has on his plate and hear a small, odd sound. Almost familiar, but not quite. My husband heard it, too, and spoke up first.
“What was that?”
Without looking up from his tater-tot toys, my son says, “Me farting.”
My husband and I look at each other, and again, he speaks first.
“What do you say when you fart?”
My son looks up at us with innocent, almost-three-year-old eyes. He stops playing with his tater tots and lifts his hands.
And starts slow-clapping.
And so does his sister.
So, when we all break out into applause next time you visit, I suggest you leave the room.