My children are used to my warped sense of humour. They should be since it is one of my favourite coping strategies for parenting all four of them.
Fun-slightly-terrifying fact: if you google “warped sense of humour,” you will be bombarded with articles stating it may be the early signs of dementia. Ahem. Moving on.
We know that laughter is important for general human health. So many benefits to laughter:
As children, we used to laugh hundreds of times a day, but as adults, life tends to be more serious and laughter more infrequent. By seeking out more opportunities for humor and laughter, though, you can improve your emotional health, strengthen your relationships, find greater happiness—and even add years to your life. Helpguide.org
So you’re either losing your mind or you’ll extend your lifetime. I’m putting my money on the latter.
Laughter helps me cope with deep emotions like this one.
I worry my boys may have inherited a dose of this dry humour from their mama.
In grade 2, my son’s class was practising carefully following instructions for a formal government-issued test. I found his sample test.
Some moms worry their sons don’t express their feelings.
Sometimes I forget others may not share this form of humour.
I recall trying to offset a tense moment when a child at church was the last to be picked up by his parents. I thought it would help lighten the mood if I joked that he could clean the classroom all week, and then get picked up the next Sunday.
Who wouldn’t see the humour in that?
What child could possibly think I was serious and burst into tears?
I don’t try to be cruel.
My aim is certainly not to cause harm.
My warped mind simply jumps to strange conclusions and sees humour in things that are probably not funny.
when did this all begin?
I have physical proof that this problem started when I was a teenager, if not sooner. My dad had left an innocent note to my mom, informing her of his fatigue and his need to have a wee rest.
I’m pooped. Gone to bed.
With the flick of my pen, my mom came home to find a slightly modified, strange pronouncement.
I’ve pooped. Gone to bed.
I simply can not help myself.
Knowing me well, my family of origin has learned that I am not the one to call when one needs a listening ear or sincere comfort. If there is a genuine crisis—yes.
If there is lesser drama that might have a teeny, tiny, iota of humour, they should really call someone else. Like another sister. Or our mother.
One sister recently called my house with a crisis. As soon as I answered my phone, she asked if our mom was there. Hmph. Skipped right past me knowing thinking I would have nothing helpful to offer.
The crisis? A mouse practically attacked her when she was in her powder room. There was a kerfuffle that involved not even flushing and a whole lot of screaming.
This is me gasping that she didn’t flush.
I was not implying this was her gasping at the mouse. If you thought that, then you are more insensitive than me.
Our mother offered all the right support.
A listening ear. Sympathy. Practical suggestions for catching the perpetrator. I may have even spotted an empathetic tear.
I forwarded her this:
See why she skipped right past me on the phone?
Does your warped sense of humour ever get you into trouble Chime in! Read more of the craziness here at Lightly Frayed.