My son Colin loves to fart. He always has. Farts make him giggle hysterically. He loves the noise that they make and the way it grosses out his sister. He loves the way it makes his parents burst out laughing. (I’m sorry, but little boys farting is so hilarious. When does that stop being funny?)
Once he was out of diapers, he delighted in the fact that the sound of his farts was not muffled. He could make his butt cheeks vibrate and amplify the sound by sitting on wooden chairs. There was no more padding to cushion the blow. His farts became louder, more forceful, and more abundant. In short, he became a four-year-old farting machine.
And this is where my horror story begins.
It started with Colin having a farting mishap. The kind of mishap where he thought that he was going to simply fart and then, all of a sudden, he was sitting in warm, squishy underpants. (Note: this has never, ever happened to me. I’m talking about my son here.)
He had done this a few times. Each time I refrained from calling it a “shart” and casually advised him, “You need to learn the difference between a fart and a poop, Son.” He would nod, change his underwear, present me with his butt and underwear to clean, and get on with his day.
I was not thrilled with the whole thing, but I was so happy that he was out of diapers. And it didn’t happen all that often so I decided I could deal with the occasional farting mishap. No problem…
…until that one horrifying day.
He came into the kitchen to report that he’d had another “farting mistake.” I held back a curse word, forced a sympathetic smile, and told him, “We all have accidents. Let’s go clean up.”
We went into the bathroom, and I directed him to the toilet so he could finish whatever it was that he clearly needed to finish while I cleaned his underwear and pants in the sink.
As I was scrubbing and he was sitting, without any warning, he sneezed, and a **HUGE** booger on an eNORmously thick and bouncy string of snot shot out of his nose. It just torpedoed from the nostril and hung precariously down his panic-stricken face.
Now I’ve had some pretty disgusting jobs in my life, and I can handle a lot of gross things. But, honestly, mucus pushes me to my limits. And this mucus was like no mucus I had ever seen before. This was super-charged mucus wearing a tiny mucus villain outfit on an evil mucus mission from hell.
But this was my child, and I could not show fear. I went in.
It was like a slow-motion scene from a movie: In the span of a few seconds, I dropped his soapy clothes in the sink, grabbed a tissue, reached over to get the foul mess, and said, “Colin, I’ll get…” just as the entire hanging mess of mucus—booger and all—accidentally got inhaled right INTO COLIN’S MOUTH.
Time stopped. Our eyes locked, and we exchanged a silent, “What the FUCKITY-FUCK?!” (Okay, that might have been me. But my son conveyed the little boy equivalent.)
And then, immediately, my son began to gag. I knew precisely what was coming. Like a ninja, with one hand, I grabbed the wastebasket from the ground (my other hand was still grasping the tissue) and shoved it in front of his face. Just. In. Time. My son immediately puked the ginormous glob of snot and mucus—and his entire breakfast—into the wastebasket. All of this—all of it—while he was pooping on the toilet. A trifecta of bodily fluids. If it hadn’t been so repulsive, I would have said it was a beautifully choreographed piece of performance art.
Heart racing, I looked at Colin who was staring back at me with a betrayed look in his eyes like, “Mom. You never prepared me for this scenario.” And I was shaking my head slowly, trying to catch my breath, thinking, “I better get something shiny from my husband for this one. This was NOT in the potty training handbooks.”
We both walked out of that bathroom despondent and wounded. We were different people—scarred from the epic battle in which we had fought.
Once I recovered enough to function, I knew I needed to address the real issue. Colin and I had a long discussion about when to trust a fart. And when not to. The difference between air pressure and the pressure from a solid mass. But this is a difficult skill to master when you’re only four years old, and we even had a few more accidents during the actual training course. I eventually threw my hands in the air and said, “Just go sit on the toilet every time you need to fart.”
Fortunately for me, he quickly learned to love the loud sounds and reverberations that a fart makes… in the toilet bowl.
P.S. Sadly, my son and I are no strangers to bathroom mishaps. I laugh about it now, but I wasn’t when my son announced to the world that I was pooping.
42 Responses
As a grown man who has more sunsets behind him than in front of him, I can unequivocally state that that the ability to fart in various “tones” only improves with age.
And wooden chairs still work well as Musical Conduits for passing gas.
On that note, I have not experienced Old Man Sharting.
Yet.
I’m looking forward to my son expanding his musical range as he grows. And I’m thankful I have anosmia. Good luck avoiding the sharts!
OMG…motherhood can be such a nasty job…
I’m sorry you suffered…but still..this was funny.
The greater the suffering, the greater the laughs…
I’m going to need you to work with my kids on this. Do you offer some sort of no-shart summer camp?
I’m not sure you want to trust me on this one. But I really like the camp idea. My son and I had a burp-off on the way home from school the other day. No vurps happened. So maybe…
This one will be shared with my entire family. A blog post about farts is a blog post they can get behind. (I said “get behind” — see what I did there?) This is so disgustingly hilarious. I know you’ve written some truly touching posts, but you obviously can roll in the gutter with the best of them too. “Fart mistake” is now forever in my vocabulary.
Geez, I write one touching post (not a post about touching–wait I wrote one of those too) and you kicked me out of the gutter? 😉 I’m a gutter gal, Jess. We’re going to be very good friends.
Mucus is my kryptonite too. In college I worked for a vet, and occasionally we’d get a dog who boarded with us who had “nervous colitis” (which is doctor talk for dogs who are literally scared shitless), and every now and then it would be not just plain diarrhea, but mucusy diarrhea. I can still gag just thinking about cleaning it up. On the plus side, because of that work experience, I know how to spell diarrhea without having to rely on spell check. So I’ve got that going for me.
Yeah, I had a dog with IBS. Mucusy diarrhea was her specialty. And she would hide it, and I’d find it days later. I’m not a big fan of jello.
Totally nauseating, and yet, so damned funny.
The perfect combination, yes?
This is hilarious…. and yet terrifying. I heard Hitchcock’s screeches during that slow motion scene.
YES! That’s exactly what was playing in the background.
This made me laugh so hard that I thought I might need to hit the little girl’s room! At least you have a balanced household (a boy and a girl). This will keep things in check when the musicality of it all becomes not so funny. Trust me, I grew up in a boy/girl family whereas my husband was an all boy family. His poor mother! And now I have two boys, one of which is also potty training. Bravo to you for surviving the trifecta incident! The worst I’ve had to deal with is an almost 1 year old with stomach flu. How do you tell a baby to vomit in the toilet?
1-year-olds with the stomach flu are the WORST. I remember sitting with my daughter and a bunch of towels inside the bathtub for hours. That. Was. Awful.
In high school, I once sneezed a giant snot-loogie into my hands… right in front of my long-time crush.
I switched high schools.
I hope you switched high school immediately.
Wow, that is a lot of fluids comin at ya, bro. Nicely handled.
This Mom gig is WAY more fluids than I expected.
Tell me you got your something shiny bonus?
Too many fluids, for sure. Nothing shiny. But I did get a good blog post out of it. Same thing, right? RIGHT?!
“Note: this has never, ever happened to me.”
BAHAHAHAHAHkajshdkajshd
*wipes tear*
Oh me neither. Me neither.
*fist bump*
Hilarious shart story! I, like you, can deal with poops but snot totally grosses me out. I would’ve been puking along with Colin. Way to hold it together!
Thank you. I was pretty impressed with myself for not losing it over that mucus. It was THE WORST MUCUS KNOWN TO THE WORLD. I’m gonna look at the cartoon now so I don’t puke right here.
That was fucking hilarious! I’m sure horrible at the time. I’ve had some pretty gross things happen with my two boys but I can’t recall anything like that! I’m glad everyone survived the incident. For the record, I find my farts pretty damn funny too!
Bwahaha! I’m SO sorry, but I have to laugh because we are in the thick of potty training and can relate. In fact, my latest post, listed below, is a potty training story. I never knew that potty training foibles would create so much content for me to write about. My readers may not appreciate the “Potty Humor”, but I have to vent somewhere…
HA HA HA! Coming from every end!
This sounds like a variation of the Double Headed Dragon (that horrifying situation when you must barf and poop simultaneously), and was truly gag worthy. As in: I just gagged up some kale salad. (Though kale is pretty gag worthy on its own.)
I think I threw up a little in my mouth. Poop and mucous? No bueno. I’m going to have a glass of wine and wash that bad taste away 😉
My son thinks farts are hilarious, too, and so I always laugh with him because his giggles are contagious and amazingly adorable. But we’ve had to have the talk about when it’s okay to say after the bus driver said that the whole way home he said “I did another one!” laughing laughing. So he’s going to kindergarten next year. Not sure everybody will think it’s as funny as we do so we’re trying to say “it’s okay to laugh with mom and dad.” Motherhood can be gross. At least it was a trashcan and not the hands. Because been there.
Sometime over many glasses of wine, I will regale you with tales of what it was like to raise a toddler whose connective tissue in his gut is too stretchy. It results in chronic constipation: before we figured out the problem and then cure, my son would poop once every week or other week. The poop ferments when it sits in there, and what came out would have dropped a crime scene first responder to their knees.
This is easily the funnies thing I’ve ever read. We are in the beginning stages of potty training, and I fear the the “advanced course” now
Good lord, woman!! That’s a lot of bodily fluids!! I would rather have the mucus … because there’s not a smell. The Girl has a super sensitive nose paired with a sensitive gag reflex. A really stinky trip to the bathroom would have her heaving and I was always afraid I’d be dealing with vomit too. (Yuck! Yuck! Yuck!!)
You know who can make a wet fart story hilarious? Yep, you. Cracking me up, as usual!!
As we are potty training our almost 3 year old son, I couldn’t have read this at a better time. Though I nearly got sick, and laugh hard enough to almost wake-up said toddler, your wisdom is appreciated!
We burned out two Green Machines during the potty training years at our home. Now, we have a full size upright carpet shampooer for our poo-ers. My horror story has a boy walking down the hall to my side of the bed at requisite 2am to inform me he feels sick. Not wanting to turn on all the lights, I accompanied him back to his room, only to discover he had diarrhea leaking out of his pjs with every step. It was epically gross.
The days of shits,sharts and shnot are long gone for me and my kids….no wait…we still do it and now we laugh our asses off even harder. I just don’t have to clean up their messes anymore. Love the “fart mistake”…. Lol
Reminds me of my student teaching days with a class of 3rd graders. As a class we officially declared farts to be funny. Also, during that time, one of the girls in the class (I’ll never forget her name, but will refrain from mentioning it here) came up to me and said she didn’t feel well. No sooner had she said this than she leaned over to puke. In one swift and fluid motion I grabbed her long hair in one hand and the waste basket in the other just in time to prevent the janitor from coming in to mop up a mess. As she heaved out her guts, I stood there trying my best not to join her. Ah, good times.
I am gagging and laughing so hard right now! Best ever! My 4yr old had a “fart accident” for the first time a few weeks ago and being the mature mama I am, I damn near pissed myself laughing! The look on his face was priceless! God job not puking too…!
I suppose this definitively answers the question of what age is it appropriate to teach a child when to “never trust a fart”? 😉
Oh GOD I’ve been there too! TWICE!
1. Newlywed and on our honeymoon I discovered that all the cheese I’d sampled at the previous stop had started that same pre-Vesuvius rumbling and held on with great effort until we reached our lunch-stop. Leaving hubby to get a table, I muttered that I was heading to the loo and did the mad waddle down the hall. Moments later, utter relief and I rested my head against the loo wall as my sight returned to normal and my blood pressure dropped. Only to have it rise again as there was a knock on the door and a womans voice enquiring if I was okay, only a man had asked her to check on his wife in case she was unwell. The utter humiliation of it all, the look from the barmaid as I ordered my soft drink and recognised her voice at the bar. Oh the humiliation!
2. Then a year later I was on a new medication with instantaneous reactions and very careful with what I ate to prevent any catastrophes. Visiting hubby’s friends in a country town, I ate only steamed vegies for lunch and drank water, congratulating myself on my clever prevention. We went for a walk through the local Botanic gardens and 500m into the walk, I realised Vesuvius had joined with Krakatoa and I was in SERIOUS trouble! Asking the wife where the nearest loos were, her vague answer of “the park cafe loos might be open” didn’t reassure me! I frantically started waddling in the appropriate direction, sweat dripping down my brow and chills running down my spine. Reaching the destination, I was relieved to find no queues and dived into the nearest cubicle where I lost possibly the last years worth of intestinal contents. Again, hubby forgot my stomach tendencies and sent his friend’s wife in to check on me – if the odiferous fog emanating from my stall didn’t alert her, my groaned response should have!
He is now well educated in my bowel sensitivities and knows that if he ever does that to me again, I’ll strangle him!
Sorry, posted that on the wrong blog post – meant to be on “I Have an Announcement to Make”
Did love this one though – aren’t kids a bloody cracker?! I took my daughter and her best mate out recently, and despite being afficionados of flatulence, we were floored by his SBDs (Silent But Deadly) and drove home with the windows down and our heads hanging out the window while he giggled in the back seat!
God help me, I have girls, but still no stranger to bodily functions here either!