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Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.

Monday, December 11, 2006

Scribbles and Scrambles - Fa-Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha...La-La-La-La

Why is it I laugh at inappropriate times? Is my brain so malformed or twisted that I find the less-than-humorous hysterically funny?

For the record, I don’t laugh at truly horrific things. Never would I laugh at war footage, or car accidents with casualties, or pictures of orphans and/or mistreated animals. These things can dredge up deep emotional responses resulting in weeping.

I tend to tear up at the slightest emotional cue. The Christmas Shoes. Yep. It gets me, even though I’ve heard the song a thousand times. Sentimental commercials force a tear, too. I can’t enjoy a movie with a hint of emotional upheaval without my family watching me for signs of weeping rather than the touching moment on the screen.

But most other things are fair game.

For example, I was just reminded of a special Christmas moment that still makes me laugh 18 years later. Most mothers would not appreciate a wrestling match underneath the Christmas tree, the ones I know, anyway. Chances are, even fewer mothers would take a picture of their children fighting under the tree. So what does it say about me that I have a scrapbook page showing the progression of my two oldest children, at ages one and three, struggling to possess the same book? Starting with frustrated, red faces and ending with a headlock pin, in full color? Probably something the psych blog down the street needs to deal with.

Or is it scary that one of my favorite pictures is of our son while he sobs on a wooden reindeer? In my defense…he loved Rudolph. We were visiting my Grandma in Missouri, and Jordan wouldn’t leave the red-nosed planter alone…until I wanted a picture for our Christmas cards. Then he cried. So what’s a mom to do? Snap a picture, of course, if you’re a mom like me.

1 comment:

Janet Rubin said...

I'd chortle with you, Kelly:) One of my favorites was 2 years ago, when I bought a wooden nativity set my little ones could play with. They were 3 and 5 at the time. Well, don't you know they were both obsessed with the baby Jesus. All season they chased each other around the house, one clutching Jesus with a death grip while the other screamed in hysterics, "I want the the baby Jesus!!!!" Good times:)