How I Learned to Embrace the F-word Without Losing My Mind

If someone asked me while I was pregnant what words I’d dread hearing coming from my son’s mouth, I might have answered with the word “no”. During pregnancy, I was simply trying to stay awake until 7:00 p.m. and freaking out about caring for a newborn, the Terrible Twos, and possibly choosing the right preschool. Once in a while I imagined having a teenager and shuddered. I wasn’t thinking about third and fourth graders. At all. “No” was the worst I could imagine.

In third grade I started hearing the dreadful four-letter word coming from my son’s previously clean mouth. Repeatedly. And the more he said it, the more he wanted to say it. It was a never-ending, four-letter word cycle and it was driving me crazy. It still is.

I never imagined four letters, just one word, would rule my life…would haunt my life. F-A-R-T.

Not only do I have to suffer through hundreds of actual farts, but I also have to suffer through fart jokes and worse, my son inserting it into nearly every sentence and every situation.  In my nine-year-old son’s world the word ‘fart’ makes everything awesome. Everything better.

As a parent, I expected armpit fart noises, making raspberries on his hands, and giggles whenever anyone farted, “He who smelt it dealt it!” I grew up with a little brother. I can deal with bodily functions. I can appreciate a well-timed fart in a movie.

I did not expect the myriad ways children can make ‘fart’ a verb, insert the word in any social situation, and make it a full body movement. I never imagined the word could be used in ways like “Merry Fart-mas”, “I fart you, Mom” and “Fart you, very much”.

I’ve tried reason, “That word is fun for you and Dad, but not for me. I don’t want you to use it around me or anyone else.”

I’ve tried threats and intimidation, “Stop saying ‘fart’ or no screen time for a week!”

I’ve tried fining him, “It’ll be $.25 every time you use that word around me.”

I’ve tried ignoring it. It didn’t make a difference. He’s out of money, doesn’t care if he loses screen time, and clearly using the word with just dad isn’t satisfying enough.

I’ve even tried joining him. Not worth it.

Then miraculously, I started to hear fewer “farts”. I was ready to celebrate passing through The Fart Phase. Then Minions came out and with it, toys like the Fart Blaster.

I crossed my fingers and assured myself it’s just a phase. And I remembered there are dozens of ridiculously successful Jim Carey movies out there: Dumb and Dumber, Austin Powers, Something About Mary, and don’t forget the memorable bridal shop scene in Bridesmaids. I realized there’s no farting hope. It may ebb and flow, but bathroom humor will never get old. Fart guns, whoopee cushions, and squeaky chairs will probably always be entertaining for my son.

I decided not to pick this battle. It’s one I can’t win anyway. I don’t care if he farts, says ‘fart’ or makes fart noises. As long as he behaves in public and at friends’ homes he can farty, fart, fart til he’s blue in the fart. At least he’s thinking creatively. Who knows? He might go on to write or star in the next Dumb and Dumber.