Somewhere along the line, Ian turned into a regular boy. Maybe it has something to do with being in first grade. I recall that being a time when jokes started making sense to me.
Today my ever-so-sophisticated husband taught Ian how to make armpit farts. Once he got the hang of cupping the palm of his hand in just the right spot, there has been no stopping him. They just left for Home Depot so they could burp and scratch with all the other real men.
He has also discovered the subtle humor of burps. For Ian, and every other red-blooded boy his age, exuding gas from one's body is something to be proud of. The louder, the better. What really gets him rolling is if I rip one. I am not exactly a delicate flower; but to Ian, I am his sweet mom who is nearly perfect. Loud expulsions of air are just, well, so undignified for someone with the title of "Mother/Saint/Ruler of the World".
The third breach of etiquette that he has mastered is, of course, nose picking. Ian will never admit to doing it. He says, "I'm just scratching an itch on the inside of my nose." Apparently, that makes it o.k. If nothing else, at least he is learning the fine art of euphemism.
3 comments:
My son is attempting to learn to burp on cue, as I can. His dad is not suitably talented, in a surprising gender-role-reversal.
I imagine this isn't the exact type of "regular" behavior you would have wished upon Ian, but funny and nice nonetheless!
I don't know if my aspie son has ever had as much fun in his life as the night that I taught him to blow a raspberry on his arm, then my arm, etc. If you haven't done this one yet, I highly recommend it!
I'm saving armpit farts for his 7th birthday (really!).
We do raspberries on the kids' bellies. It gets giggles that last for hours! Kinda makes my day too.
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