Whoosie Cushion

Not all boys are created equal.

There are some who exit the womb tossing balls and tackling teammates, others who immerse themselves in video games and comic books, and yet others still who prefer to strum a guitar or bang on a snare drum to pass the time.

However, I do believe there is a common denominator that unites boys everywhere: the obsession with bodily noises.

My boys are no exception. In their eyes, there is nothing better, nothing more entertaining, nothing more expressive than a good belch or some decent flatulence. Growing up in a house of females, I wasn't privy to the humor associated with bodily functions. After marrying into Tyler's family of brothers, I was a little shocked by how casual and welcomed it was to break wind during dinner and then discuss it. I suppose I should have looked at it as a primer to mothering boys, but at the time, I assumed I'd be graced with daughters simply because girls were all I knew how to do. I know the Lord must have a pretty decent sense of humor (just look at a giraffe and try to convince yourself He doesn't), but I didn't know He was that funny. Apparently humor is divine, because I'm now the mother of two sons.

It didn't take long to realize that this love for all things intestinally-related was innate. Once Jonah learned he actually had a little control over his body, it became a favorite pass time to see just how loud he could belch. When Sam came along, everything was taken to another level. Sam revels in it. Not only is he the first to point out and laugh at anything that remotely sounds like a toot ("toot" being our word of choice -- I feel its less offensive than other options and considering how often its said around here, it might as well not be disgusting.), but he's a pro at mimicking those sounds and does his best to slip in one -or twenty- artificial belches while we bless the food before dinner. Jonah is always a great audience, and if we're lucky, he'll join in and contribute to the symphony of inappropriate noises.

A while back, Jonah's Granny took him to the dollar store. I'm pretty sure the purpose of this particular visit was to find Sam a Christmas present, but not surprisingly, Jonah came home that afternoon having spent the entire contents of his piggy bank -- on himself. The prized acquisition of that trip was a immaculate blue Whoopie Cushion. I know he'd had one in the past, but it might as well have been his first fart-maker because it quickly became his most loved possession. His entire reason for existence became wrapped up in trying to "trick" people into sitting on it. He never did seem to grasp the idea that the cushion should be hidden so as to catch the sitter off guard, but we all played along and did our due diligence on what became known as the "Whoosie Cushion." Unfortunately, his father and his Papa were frequent targets of the whoosie cushion. When 160-270+ pounds meets a little rubber pillow, the pillow doesn't stand a chance. So once a week or so, the whoosie cushion would pop. I would suggest it find its way into the trash, and Jonah would insist on patching it with "Goose Tape" (aka, Duct Tape -- Goose, Duck, Duct...its all the same, right?). Pretty soon, the only thing holding it together was tape. But that didn't deter the boys from using it. Over, and over, and over again.

When it was his time to bring something for Show and Tell at school, the whoosie cushion was it. I'm sure he demonstrated how it worked, and I would imagine the other 5 and 6 year-olds got a kick out it (soooo much cooler than a stuffed animal!) -- And that his teacher rolled her eyes.

Sam became the whoosie cushion's biggest fan. He would gleefully scream, "toot-ing! toot-ing!" every time it was brought out, laugh delightfully at each disgusting vibration, and then watch intently as another Goose Tape patch was administered.

This morning the whoosie cushion received two more patches and I announced that it was finally time to say good-bye to the wretched thing. After cries of protest, I finally gave in and agreed it could stick around until we had time to make another trip to the dollar store to replace it.

We're counting the coins in Jonah's piggy bank right now.