As time goes on, I take my days less and less seriously. Even though I’m a widow I consider myself “blessed”. I have a profession I love, a wonderful roof over my head, and two married children with fabulous families. My glass is half full and laughing doesn’t make my face look as terrible as crying.
When I married my husband, I was 24 years old. We didn’t laugh much growing up, but I soon discovered that he made me laugh often and hard. His sense of humor was passed down.
Duck, Duck, me! That’s what my oldest son said with a large duck puppet in his hand when he was playing with his daughter some years ago. I laughed louder than anyone else in the room. My children have inherited this quirky sense of humor. (Actually, 2 of them have and the other one is on the cusp. My intellectually challenged son struggles to be funny and even understand a joke.)
For as long as I can remember my oldest son, John, and his sister, Jenny have called each other “sir.” I honestly have no idea where that came from but if you look at their Facebook pages it pops up all the time. “Thanks, sir.” “Right, sir.” When those two get together it’s a royal laugh fest. One says something and the other says something and before you know it we are all laughing just because they are.
There was the time John mooned his sister in the kitchen. No idea what brought that on but it was funny. When they were little we had whipped cream battles on Thanksgiving. For some reason, it isn’t funny anymore, so I don’t do it. Yes, I started it.
Life is just a bowl of cherries and yes, sometimes we are in the pits, but there are always more cherries to be had.
