Like father, like son

Earlier this week I was lying in bed with Little F.  Big E had already gotten up and was in the kitchen pouring coffee.  Little F was climbing out of the bed when he farted.  He paused for a moment then said, “Toot.”

To really understand the significance and the humor behind Little F recognizing and acknowledging his fart, you need to know what happened one winter’s night in 2008.

Big E wasn’t feeling well and took a dose of that night-time cold and flu medicine that promises you’ll feel better by the morning.  He went to sleep and I laid next to him reading.  At one point Big E passed gas, woke himself up, looked at me and said, “Farted,” then rolled over and muttered, “Typical” under his breath.  It was one of those moments you wish someone else were there to witness with you so you wouldn’t be the only one to capture the moment.  Of course he claimed to not remember anything the next morning; a cold medicine induced black out.  Very convenient.

But, as with the now infamous “typical” incident, I was the only one to hear Little F say toot.  My hope is now that I’ve written about it none of us will forget it and I can hold it over both their heads some day in the near future.  After all, Mama never farts.

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