Sometimes, I am silly and spontaneous in the morning.
(I get this from my dad, who occasionally woke his school-age children with a loud serenade or one-act play with multiple characters.)
The boys were reluctant to get out of bed on a school morning, so I turned myself into a one-girl show. As I laid out shirts, pants, underwear, and undershirts for their day, I gave each of them different voices and silly things to say, begging boys to wear them.
I may have excessively involved the words ‘poop’ and ‘bottom’, just for extra points and laughs. I also added a bonus punchline about the ramificaations of wearing underwear that’s too small, and I chucked the size-4 pair in the trash.
(I’m sorry you weren’t here to see it; I rarely perform an encore.)
I left the room as they were hopping out of bed, filled with smiles and punchy laughter, putting on the personified clothes.
Giggle, giggle, giggle.
You know, my own silliness often only comes back to bite me. Typically, they extend it further than my energy intended, or they ask for encores (which I rarely do).
As I finished my mascara and lip gloss, two half-dressed boys tumbled into my bedroom.
“Mommy, Tyler flushed that too-small underwear down the toilet, and now it’s stuck! And isn’t that soooo funny?!?!”
A hush fell over the room and the emotional temperature plummeted. Um, no. That’s not funny.
My own silliness often only comes back to bite me.
(Of all the tricks they have tried, and they have tried a LOT of shenanigans, somehow we had thus circumvented the flushing phase. It was really only a matter of time.)
They led me to the scene of the crime: sure enough, a single pair of size-4 undies was jammed in the toilet, peeking out like a rodent held captive.
Boys, funny is not the word for this. I can understand your confusion, since other seemingly unfunny things have been hysterical this morning. But this? Not funny. That’s a serious misuse of that word.
A long-armed Swiffer dusting rod saved the day. I jammed it in there and turned and twisted until I had effectively snagged the culprit, retrieved him from the toilet bowl, and dropped him in the trash where he belonged.
This is what I get for being silly, spontaneous, and fun. Honestly.
And the ridiculous thing?
I’ll probably fall into the trap again on some unsuspecting morning when I feel like mixing it up a bit with some talking cereal and dancing spoons.
I love the way you explain how the fun can get out of hand. I’ve never really found a good way of describing it. Your words hit it right on the head. “Typically they take it further than my energy intended, or they ask for encores (which I rarely do).” Thank you again for sharing your life with us. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who has felt this way!
This reminds me of when I used to plan “Hand” with the kids when we were settling down for naps together. It was a time of learning emotional expressions has the “Hands” talked to each other. A “dancing” hand was joyful; a “curled” hand was fearful; a hand with fingers curled toward the palm was “angry”. A “sleepy” hand rested sweetly on a shoulder or pillow. You get the picture. Now, at ages 30 and 34, my children remind me of how much this helped them learn how to show their feelings when they didn’t have the words; the great part of what you are doing is helping them learn words and expressions for them through characterizations. Bravo for silliness!
Oh, and about the underwear in the toilet–it’s mandatory that every mother has a toilet story (or 2) to blackmail her children with when they start to date. That’s your payback for having to clean up the mess :)
I do the same thing, Trisha, and one day my son (7) asked me why I was “weird” so I told him, “Because my daddy was weird, and someday when your kids ask you why you are weird you’ll tell them it’s because your mommy was weird”!! …..and the family cycle continues! (Karen)