Sunday, March 27, 2011

Conniption Fits

My husband quotes movie, TV, comedy, and music lines with some frequency as does my son. My husband can pull things out of the air that he has not listened too in many years. My son, being six, can as well, but due to time constraints, his repertoire is smaller. He picks things up quickly though.

"Same thing happens every night," utters Bill Cosby in his story about his wife coming unglued with their five children's bedtime routine. In this routine Cosby uses a phrase my husband's memory bank liked, "wander around the tub," which also accurately describes our own children's activities when sent upstairs to take a bath.

On a recent evening I thought to search for Cosby's tale on Youtube.com. The pain and the truth of the story in light of my own experience with a mere two children engulfed me; it was so funny I cried. The kiddos also thought the story was funny even if they wondered about my tear soaked face. They asked for a repeat. Clearly they are experts at delay tactics.

We ended up laughing and laughing over several routines. Later, I put the routines on my ipod so they could hear them at will. They can quote Cosby's routines verbatim these days- "Dad is great, gives us chocolate cake!" "My wife grabs a yard stick... holds it like a samurai warrior... and announces that the beatings will now begin... by saying, 'I HAVE HAD... ENOUGH OF... THIS'," and to my discomfort, "When your father gets home, he's going to shoot you in the face with a bazooka!" That one never sounds "right" around other people. Though they had to ask my husband what a beating was, they could tell you all about conniption fits.

Conniption fits go both ways-- I have them, and they have them.

On a walk this evening with guests, a truck pulled along side of us and asked, "Does a kid on a pink bike belong to you?" "Yes," I replied calmly. "Well, he's around the corner there screaming, MAMA!" the driver continued. "Okay," I said. I know that man thought I was a terrible mother since I did not immediately flip out, but ambled onward to the said same corner and identified for myself the screaming child. I then trotted over to where he was sitting in the middle of a neighbor's yard with the pink bicycle on the grass and not on the road where he was pushing it when I last saw him. He was very upset.

I got the business about not being there to help him. After a hug and a "I'm sorry," we redirected ourselves to my parent's house four yards over. I was then confronted by my upset daughter who at the time of the walk had her grandmother in her "doctor's office."

Seeing Dr. Mule usually involves having her examine all of your scars, booboos, and bumps and then her treating them judiciously with lotions and bandaids. Dr. Mule was upset that I did not interrupt her and ask her to go for a walk. I felt defeated. I apologized yet again.

Later, a guest told me about her appointment with Dr. Mule. She said, "The doctor took an x-ray of my shoulder, walked out of the room with the etch-a-sketch, and then returned, saying, '12.9, you're free to go.'"

Stories that make us laugh, even if they involve a few conniption fits, need to be shared.

Examination by Dr. Mule