Toot Cannons and Butter Cups

We don't fart in my family. Don't know why, but I cannot stand the word. We toot. Discreetly. Quietly. Or so I thought.

It didn't take long before that mysterious male bathroom-humor gene kicked in with my son. He was barely three years old and I was pulling a 'Britney Spears' (him riding in the front seat with me. C'mon Safe-T Moms, cut me a little slack -- we were only driving from neighbor's house about a block away). Anyway, he rolled up the window and began laughing hysterically.

"What are you doing??

"Giggle... giggle... giggle."

"What?!"

"Giggle... I just tooted and rolled up the window so the stink would stay in and you'd have to smell it!"

I have no idea where he learned such a trick. My husband is pretty anal retentive. He's tooted in front of me a handful of times -- all on accident and pretends nothing has happened. This toot-and-rub-your-face-in-the-smell ploy was news to me?

Now he's taken it to the most literal level -- toot cannons. My husband and I will be sitting on the sofa, watching the news and out of nowhere, my 5-year-old angel runs in, aims his butt in our faces and lets 'em rip.

"Watch out for the toot cannon!"

But the toot cannon is harmless compared to the recently discovered butter cup. We were driving my angel's best pal to preschool one day. As usual, I ordered, "Buckle up, Buttercup!" a saying to remind him to strap himself in (See, Safe-T Moms, I'm not all bad).

His best pal began laughing hysterically and when pushed on what he found so amusing explained that a butter cup is the act of "farting in your hand and then cupping your hand over someone's face so they smell the fart."

I gagged just thinking of it. How in the world will I make it through the grade-school years? I only wish Costco sold incense in bulk.