Tag Archives: humor

Humor with a side of Nervous Breakdown

I haven’t written in awhile forever. At least it seems like an eternity. To me. I encountered (and I use this term loosely) a major life crisis a few days after I wrote my last post. It was right after my birthday. A wonderful birthday. Four of my closest and dearest friends came from all over the country to visit me. We had a marvelous time making new memories while paying tribute to the old ones.  There were talks of kids, dating, husbands, careers and this strange little trip of a life. 

We all fell right in like 20 years had never passed. Just what I needed.

I can’t go into to it right now, my mid-life crisis, even though all of my favorite bloggers do. I thought about chronicling it, but could never write a coherent post three bottles glasses of wine in. I’m just waiting to find more humor in the situation. No one died, no one got sick…So no worries. Life will and does, go on.

Years ago, I used to attend this great little thing called Cosmic Coffee at my children’s school. (Keep reading – why – because I’m making a point, not just a strange segue). It was a small Montessori school and these were not your regular coffees. They were led by a phenomenal therapist, Michael Rebel. There were many skeletons from everyone’s closet which were willingly brought out into the light to dance circles around us. There were tears. For some hopefully, closure or at least clarity. I rarely spoke. Well, I rarely shared any story of my own. (Lest my own skeletons might have come out wielding machetes or  eating others’ flesh.) But of course I offered my two cents on other people’s twirling bag of bones and I argued, mainly with the therapist, a lot. I also cracked jokes. Constantly. I had a good friend tell me, “Right when we’re getting somewhere with a story or it just gets deep; you throw a joke in there. It’s really annoying.”

But that’s me — annoying and humorous. And that’s the way I deal with life’s craziness. Humor. If you can’t laugh at your situation, then you truly are at your end. At least in my book. 

So I guess I’m just waiting for some humor in my own situation. I do crack jokes about it to friends who know what’s going on.  If you can’t poke fun at yourself then what’s the point.  A few weeks ago I was at this great party. Two friends of mine, who are dating, started to get into a fight. So I barged right in  politely  interrupted and said:

“Are you kidding me, you two are fighting right now? Hold on, you really want to see a fight? Someone go grab Jason and I’ll show you a fight.”

They laughed, snickered and let their argument go. (Or just buried it to have it explode at a later time — ah –romance and relationships.) But the tension was diffused…Then I went on to parody some parents at my son’s tennis match. Good times. Humor through the pain. So what if it sometimes turns into tears. At least at some point you’re laughing.

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Yeah sure, I’ll talk to him

I got a call from one of my kid’s teachers today. It was the same story I’ve heard many times before. This time it went something like this:

Teacher: “Your son has been told numerous times to come into the class and put away his books. He consistently fails to do it in time; he’s too busy talking.”

Me: “Yes, he told me he had 5 points deducted because he had his book in his lap.”

Teacher: “Yes, it’s supposed to be inside his desk or at his feet.”

Me: “Oh, ok.”

Teacher: “I give them all a couple of minutes to put away their things in the beginning of class, but your son never pays attention to the time.”

So that’s when I tell them in the shortest length possible, I know. I know he’s unable to do anything in the exact time alloted. He daydreams, he fidgets, he creates things with paperclips etc…but never what you ask him to do right that second. Then I apologize and tell them I’ll talk to him. His story is entirely different, but there are still enough similarities to see and sympathize with the frustration he’s feeling.

We can go on and on that it must be our parenting; he must listen and instantly obey. But…he’s not going to. The reason I know this is because his father is the same way.  He doesn’t even hear half of the things going on around him. He, like my son, can observe the tiniest object in  a place no one would ever look and remember its exact placement, but realize the person in front of him is on fire — no way. They could both instantly recognize a tree has lost 3.5 leaves from a certain branch they walked by the other day, but if you asked them to hand you a pair of scissors they will forget by the time they reach the drawer. Meanwhile they’re contemplating where those 3.5 leaves could have gone. And if they did go somewhere it was probably some far off land…

You know, the far off land where only “artsy” people’s minds wander. I imagine it looks something like The Yellow Submarine movie or a Van Gogh painting.

I know it must be annoying if you’re a teacher. I know it is as a mother and as a wife. It’s annoying to me because I am so firmly planted in this world… I’m a complete and total stressed out mess. There is no wandering to a far off land; I’m too busy worrying about the dirt that’s right under my feet.

And you know what? I’ll never be an artist. I’ll never “see” what these people see. I’ll never live in their far off land. And you know what? That Sucks for me.

The more time goes by the more I realize, public school doesn’t teach you anything but the basics and if you’re “special” in any sort of way it’s just something  hopefully you can deal with and still come out of with at least a speck of self-esteem.  Basically, school — you suck.

Paris, a lesson in humility and stairs

Ok, some of these pictures might not blow you away and that’s because I took them. But I must show you this one first, because this could have been the end of my trip to Paris.

Montmartre

You see this “little” church in Paris is in the Montmartre district  (in the 18th arrondissement on the Right Bank if you want to get technical) and this is a very, very hilly area of Paris and I’m very, very clumsy. Fast forward to a little afternoon stop at a cafe in said district, a few glasses of wine, and killer heels not meant for hills, cobblestone streets, nor steep downward stairs to the bathroom and you’ve got to know where this is going… Let’s just say when my friend heard the thump, she knew it was me. And it was. One very twisted, sprained, strained ankle later and you have this.

You should see the video.

I don’t mean any disrespect, but this is a one way ticket to the The Mona Lisa up close and personal. There was no standing behind the ropes. There wasn’t much standing at all for me at the Louvre. My best friend and husband were kind enough to push me around, however they demanded I not hobble up stairs. No, they were not being kind. They insisted if they had to push my clumsy butt through the Louvre I was going to have to sit and take the slow, very noisy ramp up the 2 to 3 steps of stairs that are everywhere in this museum. However, we did get to push buttons and disappear behind walls in many museums in Paris. Never a dull moment when I’m around…

I just love the lighting in this picture.

Dessert at Jules Verne.

This, my friends, is the only way to experience the Eiffel Tower.

Especially if you’re having trouble walking, you’ve seen The Mona Lisa without having to wait your turn, the back rooms of the Louvre and your life flash before your eyes as your tumbling face first down tile steps. I would assume these are not your typical memories of Paris, but they are mine. I have the stair ramp video to prove it.

Traveling and Becoming a Divorce Statistic

My husband who I’ve mentioned here and also a little here, has been extremely lucky. Not only has he been lucky with his choice of spouse (jackpot!) but also in his choice of profession. He’s had the opportunity to travel the world, while I’ve been left at home to take care of the children and eat bon-bons – no, I’m not bitter in the least. Why would I be bitter, as you can see in the following pictures it was probably too much for anyone to bear… 

  

  

New Zealand

 

Slovenia

 

Rio de Janeiro

 

I told him if he went to Venice or Paris without me — we were done. 

VENICE!

 

Last Straw. Rough draft of divorce papers were written. I almost felt pity because he did have to take a gondola ride with a bunch of guys. Almost. 

There was no doubt in my mind that I was going on the next trip. So where did I begin? Well, Peru seemed the likely choice.  So off I went with 3 kids to meet up with my husband and begin our own adventure. 

Peru 

Luckily this was before our credit cards were labeled, “We are too big to fail, but because you are so tiny we insist you will.” Due to a complicated second passport issue we were unable to reach Machu Picchu; but it was beautiful and awesome nonetheless. Plus it gave my family hysterical “bathroom” stories about Lima. Hey, no one said we were couth. 

Paragliding in Lima, the white one is attached to my teenage son.

 

 

I shredded the divorce papers, all was as it should be.

 

Next up — Pairree, or Paris if you want to be that way…

“Parents just don’t understand…”

I’ve been meaning to write, but I’ve just been so busy. I hate when life gets in the way of my plans. I was supposed to be rich and famous by now, but silly little things like the dishes and what’s for dinner  keep interrupting my plans of grandeur.  Plus my teenager is taking up so much of my brain space that there’s nothing left for get rich schemes or PhD’s.  He’s a great kid, but Oh My…

Life with a teenager is like when you always hear about a newborn baby screaming through the night and you see a Hollywood movie scene of a dazed mother or father walking around with their pants on backwards and you think, “Yea right — that will never happen to me.”  Then karma socks you with a 15lb colicky milk sucker,  a high-pitched scream that only you and dogs can hear and you’re walking around with a diaper stuck to your shoulder and throw up permanently a part of your hair.  Forget about wearing your pants backwards because you haven’t gotten out of your pajamas for weeks.

Well that’s sort of what its like with a teenager, minus the diapers. But here’s the issue. Let’s start hearing from everyone about how it all will be ok.  A little advice from a been- there- done- that older mother who tells you they will stop acting liking an overgrown two year-old. Yes, terrible things could happen. But they could anyway, any day.  Definitely don’t tell me, Wow- this is only your first, you still have another and then.a.GIRL!

Come on– that’s like telling someone who’s been diagnosed with breast cancer — Uh oh, don’t forget you have two. Imagine when it spreads to that one!

Why would anyone do that? When you see a dazed new mother, these people must be the ones to walk up and say, “Oh, honey you won’t sleep for the rest of your life. Get used to it.” What? How about some nod of acknowledgment and simple, “Oh, honey it’s gets better and it is so wonderful. Wait till they say ‘I love you’.”

Let’s give up the terrorizing and try some humor. I always find that’s the best advice and the best way to handle anything.