I started taking my daughter to a music class for kids. We sing songs and dance around like fools. It’s fun especially when my daughter takes a break from trying to eat the instruments and busts out in a swaying dance. Makes the wiggling around like a twit completely worth it.
The class gets a CD with an array of children’s songs. There are a few I can’t handle listening to for more than three seconds but most of the other ones are fine. There’s one song in particular that makes me howl with laughter. It’s called My Lady Wind. You can run with it as far as you’d like. But it brings one thing to my mind — farting: an Olympic event in our household. Naturally my hubby holds the gold medal, my daughter the silver, and myself the bronze for ones that manage to sneak out in my sleep.
As I’ve mentioned before when I was growing up, my father thought it was impolite to say fart so he made us say, “Did you pass gas?” which sounds ridiculous, but in his presence we must have followed this rule. With my daughter I always use the word toot. But now that I know of Lady Wind I’m starting anew.
Although this name also brings to mind another word that my father would have forbidden in our house: starts with Q and rhymes with leaf. But I’m not going to refer to Lady Wind as that, it’s going to mean fart. I’ll simply ask my daughter, “Honey, did you break lady wind? Say excuse me.” Or “We only break lady wind in private, not on Daddy’s head.” But really I shouldn’t say anything — I should just let it be. I don’t want her growing up thinking she can’t be comfortable. Besides her Daddy says it’s a natural function so it’s not like he’s going to reprimand her for blowing her butt trumpet…he’ll probably high-five her.
