Farts related loved another time with us. Sitting in his car, watching airplanes fly out at the airport, Brad had to rip a huge fart to convince me that he needed to use the airport bathroom. Turns out he was doing it to propose to me in the airport, the ring in a Cracker Jack box, just like Spider-Man did with MJ. The best part? Brad knows that I find laughter far more romantic and loving than any typical romance (in fact, that stuff sort of makes me uncomfortable... yep, I'm that awkward), and he also knows that farts are very high in my humor book. So, pretty much, the fact that he had to fart to get me into that airport without spilling that he was going to propose in there kind of, sort of, really made that proposal perfect, because he had me laughing!
So now, here I am up at five o'clock in the morning, sitting in my son's room as he's finally able to rest (I now realize that staring at my son in his sleep may be slightly creepy). For the past twenty minutes I have been getting up to put pressure on his belly and pat his back every few minutes or so as he's passed gas in his sleep, helping so that the stomach grumbling wouldn't keep waking him up. And as he's ripping those incredibly loud farts for someone so tiny, it's making me laugh! I sure love this George Bradley. Love him enough to stay up as long as he needs me, just chilling like a creeper in his room, making sure those farts of his don't disturb him in his sleep.
Farts relate very well to love in this family, apparently. I so dig that.