That Handsome is now verbal enough to pass the blame of his farts onto other members of the family. A typical exchange goes like this:

Loud machine-gun noise emitting from Handsome's rear end.

Me: Handsome, did you fart?

Handsome: Nooooooo. Not me. Bubba.

Bubba giggling, which makes Handsome giggle.

Me: No, not Bubba.

Handsome: Daddy?

More giggles from Handsome and Bubba, and a few from me as a large smile comes across my face.

Me: No, not Daddy.

Handsome: Mommy did it?

Me: No, not Mommy.

Handsome: The baby did it!

By this point, it's hard to understand what he is saying, since he is just in hysterics at the humor of passing the fart-buck.

Me: No, not the baby.

A few more audible and increasingly stinky farts shoot out of his body. Many, many guffaws as we try to contain our laughter and celebration that Handsome is not behind in his speech anymore.

Handsome (now matter-of-factly): Fuzzy farted, Mommy. Fuzzy farts stinky farts.

And then we all collapse into fits of laughter. I love that we can enjoy the simple pleasure of conversation with our son, who has always been more apt to point and scream than to talk and rationalize. I especially love how I can now fart and blame it on Nana and Papa, and the kids think it's a funny joke they want to be in on versus telling everyone in Aisle 4 that Mommy farted stinky farts.