Comic Relief for Lauren...and Anyone Else Who Needs It

Today I was talking with my friend Lauren, who just happens to be funny, smart, and beautiful. (If you know any nice, handsome, respectable, single men, let me know.) I was telling her what a crack-up Riley has been this week, and I told her I'd post all the nutty things he's said in the past few days. So if you're in need of a laugh, giggle, or even a chuckle, then read on.



For those of you familiar with our family, you'll know that Ben is the guy who frequently says "Are you going to finish that?" when someone is done eating but has left food on their plate. The other night I cooked pasta Alfredo and served it with a side of broccoli. (Sometimes when I'm really in a crazy mood, I'll just throw my broccoli on top of the pasta, covering it all in fattening, cholesterol-rich, lip-smacking delicious Alfredo sauce. But that's not what I'm here to tell you about.) Riley made quick work of his pasta, but left a couple of broccoli florets on his plate. He got out of his chair, picked up his fork and his plate containing the broccoli, and walked over to the cupboard under the sink to put the broccoli in the garbage. He slowly opened the cupboard with one hand and leaned his plate into the garbage. But then he paused. With his fork on his plate, almost ready to send the broccoli into the trash, he looked over at Ben and asked, "Do you want my broccoli, Dad?"

"No thanks, Riley," replied Ben.

And with a little shoulder shrug and a tilted head, Riley said, "OK. Suit yourself," and scraped his broccoli in the trash.



I have a loud voice. Always have had. It's genetic and environmental. That's what happens when you grow up in a house where your parents communicate through yelling loudly. I really try not to yell at my kids. Some days I'm more successful than others in my attempts to keep my voice down. One technique that has helped me is funny singing. Sometimes when the kids are being disobedient but not necessarily naughty, I sing a loud, funny, and terrible version of an opera singer. Just one big note with as much vibrato, however horrible it may be, as I can.

A few nights ago was one of those nights where Riley was in monkey-mode. Lots of noise and bad manners and swinging. He was supposed to be sitting in his chair, eating dinner. He was hanging by the edge of the table and swinging under it. And giggling of course. I didn't want to yell, so I belted out a fat, old note, exhaling as much tension as I could muster. Riley continued to giggle. I then said to him, "Riley, it's not funny," meaning the behavior he was exhibiting.

"It's funny when you scream like that!" he giggled back at me. Ben was having such a hard time not laughing with his mouth full of food, I thought the food might just spew forth from his nose.



Riley wasn't feeling his best on Sunday, but seeing as how both Ben and I were teaching, we just had to suck it up and go. Riley was a trooper. For a while there we wondered if he'd ever manage to stick out Sacrament meeting, but he's done remarkably well with the strategies we've added to help him out. Because he wasn't feeling well, we let him take Blue Blankie to church with us. Blue Blankie is his blanket he's had since he was a baby. And, well, it's blue.

Riley was snuggling with me for a while, then hopped off my lap to go draw with Ben. When he got off my lap, he turned around to face me, and with very serious eyes and much brow furrowing, he handed me Blue Blankie and said, "Use it well." Then he turned and went to Ben.



I don't know if these things are as funny to you as they are to me. Maybe these moments are those you-had-to-be-there kind of things. And witnessing these funny things in person is so much better because Riley has such an expressive face. It just seems nice that we're doing more laughing and smiling than yelling and time-outs. I just hope it keeps going in that direction.