For the Love of Boys

I just love being around little boys.

They are full of comments that make your heart sing like "Will you explode if you have to fart and you don't?"

They are afforded a large, wide-open space and a piece of flesh that is easily aimed, yet their urine manages to hit the conveniently-placed target on the back of the toilet, otherwise known to women as the "lid" and, sometimes if we are lucky, the "seat".

My new favorite "Aren't boys just KEEN?" thought came today in the car.

It was just me and The Babe. Running carpool.* It was 2pm+ and I hadn't eaten. And, further, I'm a sucker for a pout and a request for a carfait**, so we ran through the Mickey D's drive-thru.*** I order a cheeseburger for myself and another for The Babe. And the coveted parfait.

Between the span of BeltLine/75 and Preston/635, probably a mere eight minutes in bad traffic, the boy had wolfed everything down. Then he started force-belching.

You know the kind, if you had a brother. It sounds chunky. Like something that was supposed to be in your stomach crawled back up and made this weird sound.

Not a petite little burp like you might hear issue from a sweet, four-foot-three Grandmother. No, this series of belches rattled the car interior. I think it took out one of the car speakers in the process.

I, as politely, as I could muster, told him to excuse himself and to stop trying to burp.

And he said "MOM. I can't help it. This is the way God made me."

Wow. Talk about putting the brakes on parental-correcting-of-bad-behavior. The God card trumps an Ace any old day of the week. And my four-year-old just threw it on the table. The nerve!

I was rendered speechless.**** He's right. The human body IS made to burp. In some cultures, this is even considered a polite response to a wonderfully-prepared and presented meal.

But, dadgum, son. We live in America. Home of people who have all sorts of bad manners. But burping? It's still considered right up there with farting. And we won't even go into THAT discussion today.

But, at the end of the day, after considering the beauty of belching and pre-moistened towelettes that make bathroom duty a breeze, I realized that I still think boys are the bee's knees.

And I wouldn't trade any one of mine for any one of yours. Even on the days that I catch a whiff of road kill and see one of the boys laughing hysterically.

While sitting atop his brother's head and force-farting.



*Yes. It got old week three. Thanks for asking.

**The Babe has a way with words. The fruit and yogurt PARFAIT, in case you aren't tracking here. I guess, since we always eat these in the car, I should give him at least one point for creativity.

***Those of us with English on the brain wonder why the Queen's English wasn't employed in properly naming this the "drive THROUGH"? Guess they'd feel obligated to serve high-tea if they did that?

****Probably by God, who reads my mind and says "DUMB. You will be dumb for the next 5.2 seconds until you have something worth saying."