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Now before you judge me (or call Social Services), let me explain.
The greatest gift God gave me is my sense of humor. If it were not for my sense of humor (or shall I say, sense of perspective), I would be on a hospital bed somewhere, a stick between my teeth, being administered electroshock therapy.
Dramatic? Perhaps. True? Oh, you bet.
I come from a long line of loonies. Serious loonies, not just eccentric loonies.
My mother loves to tell the story of her Italian grandfather, Lekio, who would routinely escape from the mental institution and hitch a ride back to 'the neighborhood' for just one more shot at killing his ex-wife, my great-grandmother. One time the family was around the table eating and Lekio walked through the back door. Terrified, they all pretended to be happy to see him, you know, "Ah, come in and mangiare, Lekio!" He smiled, came to the table, grabbed the foot-long bread knife and ran at my great-grandmother with a guttural yell. He brought down the knife, my great-aunt put her hand up to stop my great-grandmother from getting cleaved in two... and the knife came down on her hand--only to be stopped by her wedding ring, saving her arm, my great-grandmother, and the meal. Which, of course, was the most important thing.
With such a fine pedigree, I think God had to give me a sense of humor. What else could have rescued me from the genetic loading of my Aunt Dolly, who on her periodic returns from the 'home' would wander through the house, pulling her oxygen tank behind her, muttering, "Baseball... hot dogs... apple pie... Chevrolet..." Or my grandfather, who thought that Mr. Ed the Horse really talked. And walked around naked, only a rag tied around his head. And was completely pissed off when he woke up from cancer surgery to find himself still alive; he had been looking forward to his funeral so he could hear what people said about him. Or any of the other psychos, crack-pots, round the bend-ers, kooks, screwballs, unhinged barbarians, locos, battys, barmys, and out-and-out criminals hanging from my family tree.
So when I say, have a laugh at your children's expense, what I mean is this: if a mom who is predisposed to lunacy occasionally has to crack herself up in order not to take a bread knife to the small ones in her charge, so be it. C.Y.U.B.Y.C.U. 'Crack Yourself Up Before You Crack Up'. I will share a few of my favorites with you. They may not be funny to anyone else, but they made me laugh in the moment, releasing the pressure in my brain that might otherwise lead to a "Lekio".
1. I could not get my children out of the house because my son would not leave without Bear, the little blanket with the bear head that he slept with every night since birth. I knew that if Bear left the house, he would get lost and my life would no longer would be worth living at bedtime. After an excruciatingly long session of trying to reason with my sobbing son, I finally gritted out, "Okay, I'll tell you the truth. Bear can't come because he has agoraphobia. He's terrified of wide open spaces and if he goes out that door, he'll have a nervous breakdown and have to be put in the hospital and you'll never be able to sleep with him again."
Cruel? Possibly. Did it make him stop crying? Yes. (Because he was staring at me with his mouth open). Did it make me laugh? Yesssssss
2. Once my children could form full sentences, I taught them this phrase, "Mommy, you're so wonderful". I would make them say it whenever I needed to hear it (i.e., after enduring my daughter's twenty-minute temper tantrums, when I was sitting on the cold bathroom floor in the middle of the night waiting for my son to poop, after making them a meal which they promptly fed to the dogs, etc.) They, of course, had no idea what they were saying; they just repeated it by rote, like 'please' or 'thank you'. That's what made it fun.
Manipulative? Absolutely. Did it make me laugh? Every time.
3. Last week, my daughter had put me through the wringer; she'd had one of those days that made other
