Well, you may have noticed…
Who am I kidding, you haven’t noticed.
I have been gone for quite some time. Almost a week, which is a very long, LONG time in the blogging world. My family and I went on a wonderful journey to Deadwood/Lead, South Dakota for a marathon. You may have seen a few posts of mine spinkled here and there regarding it.
In my haste to get our family on the road for the 9+ hours of driving it takes to get to Lead (just so you know, it took us around 11 hours), I was unable to start on my weekly blog post I do with fellow friends of mine. I am very behind on that. It was due on Thursday, and here it is Tuesday.
So, since I’m petty good at multi-tasking:
I have joined a fantastic group of ladies, who are involved in a weekly blog project. Every Thursday, we will dazzle you with our insight on various topics. And each week, we take turns coming up with the idea for the blog topic. Please check out their blogs as well, listed under my Blogroll section. Just click on:
Froggie (Tracey): One frog’s distinct voice on the world around her.
Merry Land Girl (Melissa): Tales of a suburban mom who likes to talk about pop culture, books, Judaism, family, friendship and anything else that comes to mind.
Mom Of Many (Susanna): One Mom’s perspective on life, raising kids, knitting and other unrelated topics.
Melissa chose the topic for this week (or should I say this past week): Laughter is the best medicine: Talk about the things that make you laugh. Share a funny story or two. Tell us a joke. It’s all about humor, so anything goes!
The first thing that comes to mind is my son, Ben. This past week in Lead, I had asked that he get himself dressed before eating breakfast. I often have to ask this of him, otherwise he will sit around all day in his underwear, which is his preference. That kid hates clothes. So, he heads upstairs in our rental cabin to his room, and emerges wearing a very long t-shirt, and supremely short-shorts. I am very puzzled by this. Confused, even. I don’t say anything for a while, because I want to encourage his independence. If he wants to wear a t-shirt that goes to his knees, and shorts that barely cover his behind, that’s his perogative, right?
But it dawned on me.
“Ben… can you lift your shirt up for me?”
He does- and my suspicions are confirmed. He’s wearing his 19 month old little brother’s green shorts. In all fairness, the shorts did belong to Ben. 5+ years ago. To see my long, gangly 7 year old stuff himself into 18 month sized shorts was too much and I just busted a gut over it. It wasn’t even that comical, I know, but seeing that did something to me, and I cracked up over it.
Something else that always gets me: playing the “Mom” game with Ben.
How many times can a kid say Mom?
Kevin and I were sitting up front, in our rental mini-van (don’t laugh at us for driving a mini-van). Ben requests something. Usually if it’s of importance, we listen and are very attentive, but a lot of times it’s something like, “I want a snack” when he just had lunch 5 minutes prior. And, this always coincides with the fact that Ben likes to play the system. Eat a few bites of lunch so he can score an even better snack later.
So, Ben will ask, and we ignore. He starts to say, “Mom.” And he says this often. And Kevin and I will glance at each other and silently start to keep track of the amount of times Ben says it. A lot like Stewie in Family Guy:
And this always makes me laugh. I guess it sounds as though there’s a certain level of cruelty here, but seriously. We have to have our fun somewhere.
Or, how about the new screeching habit that Nolan has picked up? And, how he very much enjoys screeching when we are in public, like in restaurants? I am sure the patrons of Al’s in South Dakota (not sure about the city, but take the Chamberlin exit) will never forget the little blonde haired cutie who kept screeching and screaming at the top of his toddler lungs. And the mortified expressions on our faces as we tried every trick in the book to get him to stop. In the end, we resulted to doing what every other parent has done before us: eat fast. Get the hell out.
And then there’s my clumsiness, and the potential 4 prson pile up I almost caused during our marathon. I get into this zone and if I see an opening to pass someone, I will take it. I had spent the first 4 miles running with my husband, and when he stopped to walk and let me know it was OK to go on ahead, I decided to go as fast as I could. And of course, I proceed to get between two ladies who took up the whole trail and weren’t going faster, or slower, not allowing people to pass. The Mickelson trail is a narrow one, and as I said, “Excuse me” I failed to notice the woman running in front of me. I became very acquainted with her though, after practically mowing her down and stepping on the back of her right heel, sending her flying forward. I managed to pull her back from wreckage, my face bright red, and not from the sunburn I had brewing on my face. That’s one of the worst things you can do during a race, and of course I did it. What else could I do but apologize, and run as far away as far as I could from the evil looks and chatter regarding my rudeness and stupidity.
I deserved that, though.
I don’t know. I don’t think that last story was very funny.
Our trip was fun. It was stressful. Chaotic. Insane. Yet all you can do is laugh when the moments feel unbearable, because it’s what helps prevent insanity from seeping in.
Or so I’ve been told.