At least, that’s what Carter says.

For an eleven-year-old boy, this about sums it up.

Home is that place where you can have a particularly smelly evening, and be proud of it.

Home is where the stinkier, the better rules.

Home is where volume is important. Volume and, you know, how long it can go on for. The longer and the louder, the better.

Home is where people clap for you when it’s an especially deserving effort.

Home is where you keep track and try to beat your brother’s record in the number of explosions in one evening.

Home is all of these things, plus a dad who’ll tickle the farts right out of you and a mother who still laughs and brothers who make comments like, good one, buddy.

Home Sweet Smelly Home.

Love.

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