Frayed Nerves or Sanity or Whatever

Humor is how I get through my daily life. When I am ready to scream or pull out my hair or say I am going to do something equally exaggerated and dramatic, there always seems to be something that happens to make me laugh. Most of the time, my children are the ones who give me the life-saving hilarity. This is only fair, since the little darlings are usually the culprits doing the hokey pokey on my last nerve.

One such moment came when I celebrated my thirty-fifth birthday. That morning, I went to wake my thirteen year old daughter, Rhiannon, for school. Like most teens, she is not thrilled with being awakened for that reason, and like most of the female members of our family, she is usually unhappy about it at anyone in her path. However, my birthday was different in an entirely funny way.

After managing to bring her to consciousness, I said, "Punkin, it's time to get up."

Rhiannon peered at me through the narrowed slits of her unthrilled eyes and said, "Really?"

I said, "Yes, baby."

She replied, in a completely toneless voice, "That sucks."

It really was not what Rhiannon said. It was how she said it. This is another example of one of those "had to be there" moments. She usually grumbles or whines about how she wishes mornings had never been invented, or she complains that school is stupid. You know: teenager stuff. What made this conversation so funny and memorable was the complete lack of rancor or any other emotion as she simply said, "That sucks."

Of course, there is also the episode from a recent evening. My six year old son, Aiden, was alternating between playing a game on the Xbox and running through the house with his five year old brother, Liam. I'm not sure what the objective of the running was, but it was at top volume, so it must have been fun.

The next thing I knew, the Aiden, brought a pair of my pantyhose into the den. I have no clue where he found them. I avoid pantyhose like the plague, and if I have any, I would keep them in my room. My bedroom door stays locked when I am not in it. Knowing my middle child, he probably found a handy utensil and picked the lock. I really mean it when I tell people that he is terrifyingly smart.

The funny part of this is when Aiden sat down and proceeded to put on the neat "pants" that he had found. I probably should have stopped him, but I was curious to see how he would deal with them. He managed to put them on without a problem. He then wore them for several hours, which amazed me. Aiden has texture issues, and his eczema usually keeps him from wearing anything on his legs that will be hot or abrasive. To me, pantyhose are both. I thought about taking a picture, but it seemed really wrong to take a picture of my very young son in a pair of pantyhose, even if I never showed it to anyone but close family, so I chose to not have that bit of future blackmail material in my arsenal.

The best part of this adventure was when Aiden started to chase Liam on one of their runs through the house. Most of our house has carpet, but the kitchen floor is linoleum, and when Aiden hit that floor he did a spectacular slide that ended in the door of the refrigerator. His look of shock was too much for his horrible excuse for a mother. I did manage to stumble over to him and make sure he was not hurt as I strangled on the attempt to not laugh and was blinded by tears of mirth. Thankfully, when Aiden saw the look on my face, he started laughing and freed me to laugh with him and hide the fact that I was laughing at him. Poor kid.

Liam cannot be outdone by his siblings, though. He is five years old, but he has maturity delays that put him along the lines of a three year old (but an extremely smart three year old). We are in the potty training process. We were lucky with Aiden, since texture issues made him uncomfortable having unpleasant substances on him, but with Liam, we are not having the same kind of luck. Liam will pee in the potty if we take him (and we do take him), but it has been a rare and celebratory occasion (and never by his intent) to get him to go "number two" in the potty. This is an unending source of frustration for us, as we do not love cleaning poo. Seriously, who does?

We have an entire routine when we are changing soiled drawers that would be funny to us if it were not so smelly a chore. When Liam has dropped a load, and we do not smell it first, he will now tell us that he needs a "fresh butt! (pronounced shresh butt)" There are times when we discover the need for him to be changed without him telling us, but these times are usually when he is really involved with something that he does not want to leave for such minor things as being cleaned.

When it is time for him to get a "shresh butt," he will proceed to the spot where he receives one. If we do not come to take care of it within what he deems an appropriate time frame, he will start reminding us. He is like a little alarm that has the progressively louder ring. When he has just plunked himself in the changing area without our prior knowledge, he will tell us, with increasing volume, that he he is ready.

Such paltry things as food cooking on the stove or having to dry our hands from a sink loaded with dishes is no excuse when he is ready for his "shresh butt." We have tried to explain that if he would do this in the potty, he would not have to wait for his butt to be "shreshened," but he is not interested in such things, as yet. We are the butt changers, and we must obey.

While we are changing him, there is a conversation that has to occur, every time. It is as follows:

We say, "Where does poo poo go?"

He says, "In wa potty."

We say, "That's right," then, "Poo poo goes (pause) in the potty."

He says, "Poo poo goes (pause) in wa potty. That's wight."

We say, "Poo poo goes?"

He says, "Poo poo goes."

We say, "In the potty."

He says, "In wa potty."

Us, "That's right."

Him, "That's wight."

Us, "That's right."

Him, "That's wight."

We continue this theme throughout the "shreshening" of his butt. Recently, he had flopped in his spot and proceeded to start shouting, "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Shresh butt!."

I asked him, "Liam, what do you need?"

He looked at me as if to say, "Are you deaf, woman?" Then he informed me in an annoyed tone, "Shresh butt!"

I walked over to the area and noticed that there were no spare underpants in the changing area, so I walked past him to go get some to put on the shelf where we always keep some. Walking past him at such a time was just an act of pure evil in his eyes. From the fit that ensued, any person who does not know the little drama king would have supposed I had stomped on his hand as I walked past him.

Of course, Aiden calmly waited until his brother had to pause for breath to tell him in a completely bored tone of voice, "Liam, shut up." Unfortunately, this had no effect, and it necessitated a lecture on not telling people to shut up which had to be delivered during Liam's pauses for breath. It was not until I returned with the "shresh" buttage that Liam calmed down. He received his "shresh butt," and peace reigned again.

The major difference in this action was that the entire conversation about where poo poo goes was done in the style of a Broadway musical. It started with speaking, but it quickly became singing. I am always interested in varying a routine to make it more interesting, so when he started saying his part in a sing-song way, I joined right in. We even had the long, drawn-out, with crescendo, "That's wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight!" If he hadn't been lying on the floor while I sat changing him, I am certain there would have been a dance routine. Once more, with feeling!

These are examples of how my kids manage to take things that would usually have me on the edge of going completely mental then save me by making me laugh. My kids. They fray my nerves, then they braid them back together with a laugh. How did I get so lucky?