Hands down, the highlight of this holiday for Nate has been the discovery of how to burp on command. We're not sure how, but all of a sudden, he sure can let 'em rip. In all sorts of locations, in all sorts of company. Charming, truly. Immediately after, he grins cheekily and says, “ 'Scuse meeee.”
Our kids think that saying “excuse me” or “sorry” is like a get-out-of-jail-free card. It doesn't matter what action preceded those magic words, if you purposely pinched your sister or belched like a longshoreman,“excuse me” gives you instant immunity from all consequences. In their minds, anyway. “Ava,” I'll say, “Why did you just shove Nate to the ground?” She'll look at me like I'm speaking Mandarin, “I said I was sorry.”
So yeah, we're working on that. But the burping. Oh my, the burping. These are not little ones that just slip out. They are great, joyous, cavernous belches. They are repeated. I can tell that Jason is at war with himself when it happens. Part of him feels the need to rise to the occasion as a parent and manage the situation and the other half (the half that usually wins out) is all, “Wow, Nate—nice one!” Like one dude admiring another dude's riding lawnmower or something.
Two nights ago at dinner, Nate opened his mouth and let fly a terrific belch. I think he is some kind of prodigy or something. We're very proud. Jason told him that burping at the dinner table is rude. “I said 'scuse me',” Nate said. “That's good”, Jason said. “But it's better to not do it at all, especially when you're sitting and eating with other people.”
“Dad,” Nate said, “When a burp come, it come.” The whole table erupted in laughter and Nate, clearly delighted with himself, carried the day. It's hard to argue with that logic.
These wacky kids. I tell ya.