Where did you come from?

This title didn't actually come from me.  We were having dinner with a friend of ours.  She brought her lovely children over to play.  One child is 8 almost 9, and a very self assured young lady.  Our friend also has a little boy, nearly 3, who is just the cutest little thing. 

So we decided to order pizza for dinner.  We also decided that it made way more sense to feed the children first, then attempt to eat ourselves.  The herd was called upstairs, and they stampeded their way into my kitchen.  We got them all settled and started throwing pizza at them as fast as we could.  Amidst all the yelling, laughing, and genuine chaos, I hear machine gun fire!  OK, not real machine gun fire.  But farting machine gun fire.  Here's something I didn't know; if you toot while sitting on a booster seat at the table, it acts as amplification to the toot!  My sweet, charming, polite, little girl just tooted to match the big boys.  There was laughter, giggling, and a little blushing (due to the inclusion to the 'boys club' of said 9 year old girl).  Then, there was more tooting.  A lot.  How is it that boys can't remember to flush the toilet, turn off a light, brush their teeth (with toothpaste and a toothbrush, at the same time) but can summon flatulence at the drop of a hat?  Seriously. 

The parents were going ghetto and drinking wine out of red plastic cups, and our children were having a farting contest.  It was a proud moment.  But, it really was funny.  And impressive.  Abraham, who features prominently in several of these little blogs, won.  Are you surprised?  Don't be.  He is CRAZY and WILD and apparently the best tooter of the group. 

So the title?  It came from my friend's daughter.  As all the laughing, silliness, and tooting were flying around the table, thankfully without being joined by pizza or pop, she turned to my boys and said, with a look of horror and extreme confusion, "WHERE do you come from?!"  I had to laugh as I have wondered that same thing... often.