Minding my business

I've actually been staring at the white computer screen with my fingertips hovering over the keyboard immobile for the past ten minutes or so. But it's not because I don't have anything to say. I'm actually thinking twice before I spill my guts to the Internet.

This starting a Passion business malarkey has compromised my blogging integrity. I'm starting to think twice about putting myself out there. Which is pretty ridiculous when I think about it ~ I'm already 'out' there. But now I'm representing a company and I don't want to misrepresent what they're all about, I'm starting to rethink what I'm all about.      

I've always had a keen sense of humor - about most things in life, but particularly the baser stuff. Tell me a dirty joke and I'll laugh the hardest and longest. I love potty humor. It's easy and hilarious. I think this might be a genetic disposition. My kids are already laughing when they hear a toot, and they are very aware of the hilarity their own tooting can create - at least if Mommy's in the room.

Listen to this, too good to miss, de de le de, de de le de le BLLLLLLEERRR!

The other day at the Clubhouse our Sawyer farted as he was heading into the pool. So he made sure to yell across the pool to his Uncle Doug sitting in the shade.

"Uncle Doug ~ I just tooted!" The proud grin on his face was reflected as clear as day in Mommy's who was sitting poolside next to Uncle Doug and Great Granny.

"You can't teach that!" I laughed.

I'm not sure why I was the only one laughing.

I know there are plenty of others out there that love my humor. But they aren't all around me apparently. Even the hubs is grossed out on a daily basis.

So if my hilarious blog has a niche audience, then perhaps it's not such a great thing for my Passion business, which does NOT have quite such a niche clientele.

Hold the pone! Did Momma just say that Passion Parties does not have a niche clientele?

You are damn right I did. Passion Parties is for EVERYONE.

So I am thinking twice when I post a dirty pic on my Feel The Vibe Facebook page; because the page is for everyone but if the joke only gets a titter from a few and a belly laugh from even fewer, the chance of it putting off a potential client is greater than the entertainment value it holds. That's not to say my jokes aren't funny. Obviously they are hilarious.

Just only to a select group of peeps. You know who you are.

So please bear with me my foul followers as I try to find my balance with blogging and my business. My business is about helping women, ALL women ~ and that includes the more introverted, private, conservative and classier ladies that aren't digging on my blog.

You know who you are.

Hands up if you just farted?

Pregnancy parps revisited - not such a LITTLE stinker!

*Definition of a parp: A term used for a pregnancy fart, which first became popular in the blog: not one for the FAint heaRTED - let em rip! 

Only minutes ago I left poor Papa bear stranded in a room engulfed with a most potent baby poop and parp* perfume blend.

Oh Daddy forgive me....           

See, it's his birthday today, and only yesterday did he suffer from some flash in the pan voracious virus that had him spewing from both ends! Bad enough to take off work and spend many hours in bed - or on the potty!

He blamed it on the bacon I fried up yesterday morning - at least the smell of which turned his tummy in the first place - but it couldn't have been the culprit of the nasty bouts of diarrhea and vomit he had to endure well into the afternoon.

And no-one else paid that high a price for its greasy goodness!

So tonight, after leaving my littlest snuggled up tight in Momma's bed, I sought out the birthday boy and our eldest son who were already slogging through the bedtime routine.

Big kid was sitting on the pot beside his Choo-Choo bed - his number one spot for doing a number two - and Daddy was sitting in front, courageously reading whatever book big kid required to get his 'jobby' done.

Smiling at the romantic but rancid little scene before me, I squatted down behind them and put my arms around Daddy to give him a birthday kiss and cuddle - believe me, none of what happened next was premeditated...

I reached out both hands to my eldest, who'd exclaimed 'Mommy!' in the most loving manner, as he does every night when I join them in his room.

Without getting up off the pot he held his arms out to be included in Mommy and Daddy's hug. I squeezed his hands lovingly while leaning against Daddy.

It was a beautifully mushy moment - broken abruptly by our kid farting a bit more poop out.

It couldn't have been better comedic timing - and without thinking I responded in the same language! I'm not sure which was funnier; Daddy's disgust or the look of wonder on my 2 year old.

Oh but it burned, and I knew straight away we were all in trouble, so I hastened my retreat.

"...  err.... on that note, I'll love you and leave ya....'

It was too hard to contain my guilty laughter, and Daddy knew, even before those teeny tiny poop particles made their way up his already nauseated nostrils.

I had to use Daddy to push my heavy load up from the floor, and the fast dispersing aroma had already hit my level by the time I was standing - poor Daddy was still way down in the concentrated thick of it.

What with his wife's whiffy wind-breaking and his eldest son's air-exposed excrement, it was all too much for Daddy's tentative tummy, and he started gagging involuntarily!

It was a raucous race to the door where preggo Mommy mercilessly blocked Daddy's attempted escape, laughingly locking us all inside the room in order to fully appreciate the fabulousness of the fart - meanwhile big kid was in fits of giggles on his potty, unfazed by the power of Mommy's parp!

That birthday steak was something else, and what my pregnant body was able to do with it in a little over an hour was literally breath-taking!

not one for the FAint heaRTED - let em rip!

As if we preggo 'ladies' don't already have enough to contend with! Last night I suffered through the worst bout of gas my intestines have ever had to face. These pregnancy 'parps' as I've fondly dubbed them, are enough to completely suffocate the already dying embers of any expectant father's ardour!

Lucky for my two year old, he already graduated from the 'Family Bed', but poor co-sleeping baby and Daddy! I've always been a fart-giggler, never one to let a fart slip by without acknowledgment - and that goes most of all for my own. You would think that a decade of life sharing would have normalized the natural act - not on your life!

Last night I was reduced to a giggling schoolgirl, unable to stifle the gurgles of laughter each time I let one soundlessly 'rip' - the worst type of fart - silent but deadly. Each giggle gave fair warning to my helpless husband, who tried to defend himself behind his duvet - to no avail!

Talk about laugh! My hysterics were brought on partly by the sheer magnifence of the 'parps' and partly because I was trying desperately not to wake the baby. How could the little tyke sleep through that? I was absolutely mortified and yet utterly fascinated by the putrid stenches I was capable of emitting!

Poor Daddy! If my fat belly, wobbly arse, sweaty arm-pit breasts, teenage acne, swollen ankles and raunchy belches aren't already passion killer enough - I think I'll try holding HIS head down under those sheets for a change! Whoa!

It's actually a rather fortunate weapon to hold for an exhausted Momma - what better way to fend off any unwanted advances? Mother Nature definitely works in mysterious ways, and the after shocks of these 'parps' are likely to be felt for years to come.

Even I wish I could sleep someplace else!

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