Fart Jokes or Why We Adore Steve Knapp

Steve Knapp has been a co-worker of Big M's for the past decade. In that time, he and his family have become good family friends.

Recently, Steve Knapp came thru Glasgow on a work related trip. It was the second week of cold, snow, and ice storms. Also, it was my second week of being housebound whilst pregnant due to the weather and the first day that Big M was back from a two week work trip to Asia. Big M deemed a break for me as urgent, scooped up the kids, and took Steve Knapp and his visiting customer on a two hour hike thru Mugdock woods. I never would've chanced the littles with grown-ups much less a customer, but I learned again that I perhaps underestimate my kids a bit - or maybe we are just in each other's pockets too much with the weather recently. Regardless, reports from the snow indicated that the kids were not whining, having fun, and showing Steve Knapp and his customer a side to Glasgow that they would not have seen in a standard meet-n-greet. To be honest, I was relieved more than proud, but again that might indicate I am more the culprit in what I deem as questionable behavior in my kids.

I assumed responsibility for the littles in the early afternoon so that Steve Knapp and crew could go on a scotch distillery tour. Rather than greeting me with, "I missed you!" or "We had such a good time..." or "I jumped into a snowbank off of Mugdock Castle's kitchen wall..." Little M greeted me with the following statement:

"Steve Knapp said, Pull my finger and then I did and then he farted - in my face..."

This was said as if Steve Knapp is now the ruler of the free world and also untouchabley cool. Though Steve Knapp did run for governor of California, I can assure you Steve Knapp is not a ruler of the free world neither should he be - if only due to his less than circumspect gastrointestinal control. Also, I must admit my bias. Fart jokes have never been my thing. They just aren't funny to me and fighting the "no fart joke" fight has proven to be cause for migraines, ulcers, and heartache in a house with an almost 6 year old boy thumping the oaks. "Uphill battle" does not describe my efforts accurately. "Lost battle" does.

Then, without skipping a beat, Little M added, " and he must not have a good Mama to teach him that farting is also quite rude."

While I am sure that Steve Knapp's mother has done a good job despite losing the same "no fart joke" battle I have clearly also lost, I am even more sure of why we adore Steve Knapp. Because, when told of Little M's take on the whole situation, Steve Knapp was impressed. He thought it a unique skill to enjoy a fart joke and suck up to one's mother in the same breath. This experience is one I have had with Steve Knapp over and over again. He is able to find and enjoy the skills that everyone brings to the table - even amidst glaring faults and whilst the room stinks to high heaven. We miss and adore you Steve Knapp. Fart on...

there is always tomorrow

G wears the cuffs that were cut off of Big M's pants on her head at least once a day. They are crowns, hats, magic bunny ears, veterinary tracking collars for rhinos, the source of super heroine powers, and a great embarrassment for her brother especially when I say, "Come on, let's document this moment."

There is one major difference between these two. Little M, believes that if you could just listen to his entire story -even if it takes days to hear the story- you will come around to his world view. G doesn't really care if you get her world view as she just does what she wants and figures you'll come around. An offshoot of this part of G's personality is that she has developed a myriad of ways of telling you, "No." Please note that it is such a pervasive part of her, that her ninja "no" skills are not a developmental stage but more a part of her basic skill set.

The latest is tomorrow. For example:

Me- "G, please put your Jammies on."
G- "Jammies are for tomorrow."

Me -"G, it's time to go to the store. Let's go to the store. We need to get special chocolate for Little M for his friend's party. You can have some too!"
G- "I like chocolate. I like chocolate right away. The store is for tomorrow."

Me- "G, let's get our coats on to get your brother."
G - "I will go tomorrow."
Me - "It will be too cold without our coats. We need to stay warm and cozy."
G - "I am warm and cozy now. You get you (not a typo) coat on. You go now. I go maybe tomorrow."

I'm not sure if this use of the word tomorrow is a sign of a young procrastinator? a stubborn yet polite child? a forward looking soul? Her brother was too busy talking about how he didn't want to wear the pants cuff on his head. He was just sure if she listened she wouldn't put it on his head. G just put it on him whilst he was yammering on. I said to him, "M, you don't have to put it on. You can use your words. You can tell her no." G piped in, "Or tomorrow."

i'm special

I've lied to my kids. I've told them that I am very special. I have said that I am a special person because I am their mother. That we are better than friends because I am their mother and I enjoy their company. That I have amazing capabilities like healing owies, calming hurt hearts, putting letters together to make words to make sentences to make stories that take them anywhere they'd like to go. That I am special because I will believe in their otter dens, their dragon houses, their delicious playdough cookies.

I've told you before how my children ignore the bounds of natural laws. Physics, geometry, even genetics are all things that are essentially faulty in their world until proven otherwise with bruises or bloodshed. For example, when asked if they are excited about the baby, if they would like a boy or a girl this February, they reply with a zoo animal of some sort. Often the zoo animal is not from the petting zoo section. A polar bear, a baby elephant, a white tiger, a beluga whale... Thankfully, they usually want something from the placental order of mammals, albeit cetaceans show up more often than I'd like.


I have taken these hopes for a zoo animal as an opportunity to teach my children about the gray zone in which most of life occurs. I tell them that I am special, but not that special. I am good, but not great. But, the lies have grown out of control. They do not believe me. They shrug in defiance, "No Mama, you are that special." I find though, after looking at pictures of these two, that maybe I am that special. That when they say they are hoping for a zoo animal, they are indeed hoping for one of their ilk. A wee babe that will build meerkat dens like they do. A sibling to help them sit on dragon eggs til they hatch, and to swim like a real-pretend-killer-whale in the pool when ready. And, if that is what they are saying, I am sure I am that special and I am thankful that they know I am too.

let go

First, let me provide a list of the what she is wearing. a pirate bandana, my elastic hair band slung under her nose and around the back of her head, a black turtleneck, her swimming suit (under everything), a home made halloween cowboy vest, a pink tutu, green leggings, red cowboy boots and her brother's socks and his boxers.

Second, let me state that this is what she wore for most of a Saturday. She wore it, including the headband just so, outside, to the park, for an hour's long drawing session, building forts in the living room and during lunch. She also, remarkably and impressively, never had a toilet accident despite the layers of removal required for such endeavors. There were no alterations. Suggestions/comments/queries from outside sources were frowned upon with the disdain that only G can muster.

Third, let me offer the above picture as evidence that I am not lying when I say that I do not care what my daughter wears as long as it has been cleaned within the last 48 hours. I know when to stand my ground and when to retreat and really, from the looks of her, wouldn't you retreat into a padded parent corner and sing gospel hymns out of tune too? I mean, what else is there to do?

Fourth, let me ask you to remind me of this picture when I require blackmailing as a parenting tool. You may even say to me, "You know, you might try to persuade her not to x, y, and z, by threatening to show others that picture of her as a 3 y.o. you posted on stubbytoes...." I am asking for your help as I clearly not only need it now. I will rely on it heavily in the future.

Fifth, remember how good it is to let go.

you stink

I was bullied as a kid. Head in snowbanks, surrounded by kids throwing kickballs at my head, names without games...You say it, I probably had it done to me. As I got older, I realized that some of it was how I saw the world. Simple misunderstandings. Such as in high school, I was asked if I liked toe jam. I thought I would be received with laughter and high marks for humor when I replied that it was yummy in a dead pan, serious sort of way. Nope. I was tagged as the freshman girl with questionable hygiene who snacked on toe fuzz for my first few months there. Luckily, I've always found a quirky soul to hang with and a patient teacher here and there. I've also had the strength to mature and realize that not everyone is out to get me. Just a few people who have bad senses of humor, don't like toe jam, and don't hum their own tunes to themselves in the hallway.

Imagine my surprise, then, to discover this weekend that sweet baby G is out to get her big brother. Though not in a malicious way. It's more of a little sister trying to keep up with big brother sort of way. Yesterday we took the kids' bikes to the reservoirs and when G tired of her bike, she walked. Then she decided that big M should hold her bike and she should chase little M. Then, when she couldn't catch Little M cruising ahead on his bike, she would cry. Moan. Hide her face in her hands, lean against the wall and curse the sky. Little M, kind guy that he is, would stop, turn around and go to comfort her. She'd leap up and run ahead and shout, "Nananna Boo boo," or some such and stick out her tongue and repeat the whole process when he superceded her. Without fail. He would comfort and she would trounce on his kindness. If you have enough energy to pick on your sibling, you're clearly not being worked hard enough. We put her back on her bike to stop the madness.

Even this morning, at breakfast, Little M ate quietly considering the day of rugby and swimming that laid before him. She, frustrated with the quiet, said, "Your bread stinks." For all I could tell - and I do have that hypersensitive pregnancy nose - it smelled fine. It smelled like honey and peanut butter. Little M was worried, how should he respond? I told him his toast was fine and to ignore her. She said, "Your peanut butter stinks." He asked in tears, "Does it stink?" No, no. I am trying to teach him that kids say rude and untrue things about his food at school and now even his sister says rude and untrue things. That these comments are silly and not worth his worry. If he knows the truth, that his bread is unstinky, then these comments have no bearing. G continued, "You stink." Little M sighed, summoned his patience and said, "Stinky bread makes you strong and smart. You want some?" G laughed and finished his stinky toast for him. They then took their stinky selves and made a meerkat den in the living room.