9 April 2020: Daily Humor direct from my children
/Ah, friends. Last night I was reminded that in hard times, when raising children, pretty much throughout life itself, it is critically important to have a sense of humor and see the lightness in things when you can.
Picture it. And if you need a quick focus longtime friends and readers, this is more FBI than sink plants.
It’s after 7pm, and the boys, having finished a lengthy day of distance learning, were outside playing on a spectacularly balmy, beautiful evening. Oliver had recently come in sweaty, asking if he could bring the bottle of cold sparkling apple cider in the fridge out for him and Jack. I handed him two plastic tumblers and sent him on his way, thankful that they love playing together so much.
I turned my joint Hamilton and Queen playlist louder, checked on the turkey roasting in the oven, and gave thanks for a kitchen in which no one was talking. What heaven it is to be alone in a room sometimes! What bliss to think in unencumbered fashion, to be alone with your ideas and musings!
After the half hour chimed, I heard the kids tumble through the front door, laughing hysterically, and run towards the kitchen. I turned to them, smiling beatifically, for the turkey was golden, the fruit salad was tossed, the broccoli was steaming, my wine glass was full.
They could hardly speak, their laughter was that hearty, and then I noticed Jack clutching the empty cider bottle like a wayward drunk.
Oh dear. A bit of a stirring stirred. I turned down the music.
“Mom, OMG, it’s so funny, OMG, Mom, the neighbors, our bikes….” You could not make out details. Both talked as if seized by a loquacious spirit (which, frankly, isn’t that out of the norm, blessed is me).
“Boys, slow down.”
“Ok, we were riding around on our bikes, calling out ‘Bottle check!’ Boy is this champagne delicious. Oh, hey, watch out for the wombats. Do YOU need help catching the wombats in your house?”
Readers, they were swigging directly from the apple cider bottle, fully aware of walking neighbors’ suspicious glances their way, and carrying on about wombats and help needed in their capture.
I could only laugh. Roar with laughter, really. I am not sure I formulated words for many minutes. I was both marginally mortified and astonishingly proud. Then I had to send an email to our neighborhood listserv to assert that no, my children are not youthful alcoholics but, rather, cabin-fevered youth enjoying some much-deserved silliness and release.
I’ve received two responses: one from my next-door neighbor who snort-laughed a note: “Hah! Wombats!” and the other from a neighbor I don’t know but can tell I’d like: “Emily, this my favorite post of the corona era. You are doing good, mom. You will get through this with good memories.”
What a time to be alive, friends!
