Trying to understand boys

I have said it before and will say it again: I'm not sure how I ended up with two sons and no daughters. I just don't "think boy"—and the older my two get, the more apparent the divide.

Tonight I was sitting at the table with Josiah, helping him with some Legos. It was just to the two of us, and we were companionably quiet, working away. Idly, slowly, I tapped my foot twice in the quiet kitchen, the sole of my slipper on the tile floor making an audible little thwack (pause) thwack.

A moment later a pair of small toots escaped Josiah. He didn't say "excuse me" or even so much as look up. Being 6 and a hearty lover of all bodily noises, I regret to say that this isn't at all uncommon for him (more's the pity). But I didn't say anything. A couple of little toots slipping out after I'd served him a big veggie stir fry supper is forgivable, right? In any event, although his tempo was akin to my toe taps, I drew no relationship between the two events. But then I happened to tap my foot three more times, thwack thwack thwack.

Josiah tooted three more times.

I looked at him, ready to remonstrate with him this time. But...I stopped short when I saw his face. He had this, dare I call it tender (?), little look about him—not cheeky, rude, or gleeful—as he looked at me. "We're making music together with our toots," he said to me with a smile.

Could it be true that he thought we were having a special moment here, quietly passing gas in asynchrony, conversationally, with one another?! Yep. That's exactly what he thought. "But Josiah," I said, "I'm not tooting!"

We both burst into laughter and it took several minutes for us to pull it back together. He thought it was hilarious that he mistook the sound of my foot tapping for toots (I had to demonstrate several more taps as evidence), and I, well, I think my laughter was as much in incredulity over this funny, boy-filled lot in life as anything else.

Good thing I don't have to entirely understand my boys to love them. A lot.