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I’ve been
told that I’m in the wrong line of business.
That I should go write and “be funny.” Isn't
that a lovely idea? I turn on the funny tap and
out comes something to amuse everyone. So, why
is it that as soon as someone tells you to “be
funny” the old brain turns fuzzy.
Personally I find that writing with humor is
like fishing in an intermittent lake. One moment
you’re having the time of your life listening
to the water lapping gently along the shores,
people are at the very least chuckling and the
next your brain is a dry lake bed. Nothing but
sand, a few left over shells and the bare
bleached bones of some poor fish that got left
behind. One is left desperately hoping for rain.
Then of course I have the added problem of being
surrounded by four children of varying ages,
smells and sensitivities. How can anyone feel
the slightest bit funny when someone is always
either crying and screaming because they’ve
gotten their feelings hurt, they've been hit by
their eldest sister or they stink? In the case
of the almost two year old, stinks really bad.
Everyone should own an almost two year old. You
can learn a lot from them. For example you
quickly learn that very few things are
unappealing enough to not put in your mouth. At
least for a quick taste. Make up, Vaseline,
sticks, ol fuzzy chocolate found in the carpet,
strange berries off the trees, strange berries
that fall under the rabbit's cage. Anything in
fact, except real food.
I'm on my fourth almost two year old. I survived
the first three, but being much more older and
more fragile in sensibilities, I'm not so sure
that this particular little boy is going to
leave me intact, my mind went a bit gaga with
the first two year old, now I'm down to just
brief reality flashes. Those are teetering on
the edge of complete and utter oblivion.
As mentioned earlier, the almost two year old
eats anything he gets his grubby little paws on.
Right now he’s seriously into chalk, crayons,
candles and dog food. Quite a digestive
nightmare for a mother to have to deal with. I
don’t feel I’ve ever done anything bad
enough to be forced to deal with the things I
find in his diaper.
I can deal with most of it. The dog food gets
digested alright and the chalk, well, while
it’s strange to find white chalky lumps
amongst the raisons and corn, it’s the bits of
undigested crayons that really get to me. I
mean, it’s just not natural to find bits of
gold, blue and neon pink in there.
Fortunately he’s trainable. Sort of. Now when
I see him chewing on something, I just yell
“Give!” and hold out my hand for him to spit
in. I’m getting pretty tired of having orange,
brown and green bits of crayons being spat out,
but I’ve come to the conclusion, that I’d
much rather have him spit out the crayons than
the headless bug that came out not too long ago.
One tends to lose their sense of humor after
that.
Cheers!
Kathleen Petrides
The Woobey Queen
Loving
Touch Therapeutic Toys and Pillows.
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