The Wind-floo-endways

My daughter has a theory that you can never really share your life with someone unless you can fart in front of them and know they'll love you anyway. Sharing love in this manner has never been an issue in my family. I remember as a child, my father accusing Mom of "stepping on a frog" It was not until I was much older that I realized that the amphibious population was not in immediate danger of extinction in Mom's general vicinity. I was ever watchful for the unfortunate frog that would cross her path. We loved her anyway

Mom thought "fart" was a terribly vulgar word, and she did so despise coarseness of all kinds. It offended her sensibilities."cutting the cheese" was out as guttural slang. She preferred "passing gas", or "breaking wind", or my personal favorite: "the wind-floo-endways". As she aged, she felt less and less embarrassment at any slight gaseous indiscretion, choosing instead to look up from her dinner plate with an expression of annoyed resignation and shrug her shoulders. That said it all...."sorry guys....can't help it" We loved her anyway.

This was not always the case. I remember one incident many years ago when Mother received the local pastor for coffee. My younger brother Ted and I regaled the pastor with riveting tales of Mom's frog stepping difficulties. After all.....these stories were well known and told countless times within the walls of our home. After our distinguished guest left, Mother, red-faced and blustering, bellowed "You will not discuss your mother's gaseous expulsions with the clergy!!!!" Ted and I were stunned that our ripping entertainment of the pastor was not well received by mom. We loved her anyway and she eventually came to love us again.

Mom and Dad rest peacefully now but our legacy of gas lives on. Hilary will smile sweetly at Justin and say "oops...I tooted", but will glare at him with disapproval when he pours himself an extra glass of milk at dinner. "you're lactose intolerant!!" and will insist that he remove himself to the lavatory to wind-floo his endways. She loves him anyway.

My sister Ann's daughter Ellen insists that her mother can actually make the floor vibrate. My brother Chuck would simply inexplicably wind down windows followed by everyone else in the car silently taking the hint and rolling down windows. I myself never have gas. It doesn't really count unless it scares the dogs....right?

I think the dogs love me anyway.