In an effort to be more classy, I am switching from poop to farts.

I was walking into a big box store the other day, (I get tired of saying I was going to Wal-Mart - it's as trashy as talking incessantly about bowel movements), and I was carrying Drew on my hip. And because it was Drew and because you never know what you're going to get with Drew, I can't say I was really surprised when he farted on my arm and then in his most incredulous voice he said, "Did you fart??"

I was not about to take the blame for that one, so I told him that, no, I hadn't farted, it was his fart. We argued back and forth all the way into the store, and all the while, Drew kept farting on my arm and denying it.

It reminded me of when I was a teenager and I would go to the grocery store with my Dad. He couldn't seem to pick out a bag of chips without passing gas. And Dad's gas rarely smelled, but it was always as loud as a tuba. He would do the deed and then, in order to pass the blame, he would say, "Bethany!", in the voice of a very disappointed parent. Anyone lingering in the aisle would throw disdainful glances my way and I would flush with undeserved shame.

Again tonight, I was helping Drew into his pajamas and he bent over, farted, and looked at me and proclaimed, "I not fart."

Well, you know what? I am so glad that I finally have a child who doesn't burst into hysterics when they fart, and would rather everyone just pretend that it hadn't happened.