My Momma lives 6 hours away from me. In the past, we had a difficult relationship. Now that I’m older, I can freely admit that our problems stemmed from the fact that our personalities are so very much alike. At the height of our fire-breathing arguments, when I was younger, it was always Momma’s fault.
These days, I appreciate her. Granted, she still makes me crazy from time to time, as mothers tend to do. But I love her candor, the way that she dotes after my niece, and mostly…mostly…I love her utter silliness. My Momma is silly. I got that from her. We laugh at things that other people just don’t think are funny.
When I was in elementary school, I had a horrible habit of cracking up laughing during class over things that other people clearly did not find funny. I would laugh. I would stop laughing. Then, I would make that strained “I’m not going to laugh” noise, which is so unbecoming in the middle of a silent classroom when you’re 10 years old and trying to develop normally and make friends.
I always got in trouble for this problem in school, and one day, Momma sat me down and told me that she had the same problem in school. I told her that I didn’t want to laugh so much, but I just couldn’t help it. She told me that the only cure that ever worked for her was to think of the saddest thing you could imagine, and it would always make you stop laughing. Fortunately, it works. Unfortunately, I had to force myself to think horrible thoughts just to stop the giggling.
The moral of the story? I’m just like my Momma. And, I’m mostly ok with that.
What I’m not ok with?
The fact that I received this in the mail yesterday from my silly Mom.
It didn’t make me giggle.
Ok, maybe I giggled a little.
