laughter: the best medethine

by humanmama on October 30, 2011

Part of my mass worldwide appeal is that I am funny. Well, I like to think I’m funny. I’ve mentioned before that humor is, of course, as it is for all comedians and jesters, just a clever way of hiding insecurities. But at least people laugh, and I love to make people laugh, and so it makes me feel better. Insecurities or not.

One thing I like to joke about is my weight. Which is actually, at this stage of my life, not terrible. I wish I weighed less, but I do weigh less (way less) that I did in college. I was always on the not-thinner side, so it’s not like I’m super skinny now– I’ll call myself “average.” My problem is that, while I can know that I’m at an average weight (google and my BMI tell me so), I don’t really believe it. I am the woman who can be joking about “fat pants” to a woman who’s being lifted on a crane out of  her house for medical treatment. Really! And I wouldn’t even realize the irony. I’d be all like, “I know, Carpenter was totally about to cut my stirrup pants off the other day, too! Hey–you gonna eat that last candy bar? Can I have it?”

It’s part of fitting in. I also have problems with accents. I’m sure I’ve written about this before, but we once went to a garage sale and Carpenter was practically kicking me the whole time. I got into the car and said “WHAT WAS all that about?!” and he said “Like you don’t know.” I didn’t. Well, turns out the woman running the sale had a terrible lisp. And I spent 1/2 hour saying “Well, thith ith thome great thuff you have here! How muth for thith cheth thet?” It’s not mean: it’s how I acclimate. I now have a Yinzer accent, but put me back into West Michigan for a week and I’ll be all Minnesota again, like the mom on Bobby’s World.

That’s what I do in parenting, too, in my best moments. If the kids are obviously whining or insane about something, I just up it one notch. I start crying and screaming for daddy, or a toy, or TVDVD harder than they are. And they begin laughing through their whining, and then they’re all laughing and no whining. We all have fun. (Caveat: my kids are old enough to understand the joke. Mostly my 5-year-old. Do not try this with a newborn: he will not think it’s funny.)

I’m thankful that I can laugh at myself. What do you laugh at? Try it: it theriously workth.

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