I had absolutely no idea how funny kids were. This is something that came as a surprise to me.  I find my children entertain me in so many ways. It is their sense of humor, their creativity, their expression of power that amaze me.  It is my first daughter’s sense of independence and supergirl stature that never cease to provoke a laugh in me.  She is virtually unstoppable and so sure of herself that she actually argues with me over the pronunciation of words. Two of her favorites are “yogrit” and “hopsital”. She’s five. She is this tiny little person trying to exercise her competence as if she were our equal.  As my husband said when she was first born,

 

”She is like a real live human being”.

“What the hell were you expecting honey, a pomeranian?”

 

But you see the point. You expect them to be “babies”, not “real live human beings”.

My favorite story is when we went to the hospital to deliver our second daughter. My mother came to spend the night and take care for our eldest, Elizabeth. She was 2 1/2 years old. After about 12 hours Elizabeth was done with the “babysitter.” After dinner she announces,

 

“you can go now Mimi.”

“I will be spending the night with you Elizabeth. Mommy and Daddy won’t be home tonight,” my mother explains.

“That’s okay. You can still go.” Elizabeth replies confidently.

“But you’ll be all by yourself.”

“No I wont”, Elizabeth pipes up, “Abbie and Sophie will be here with me!”

 

My mother giggles, “Oh, you’re going to stay with the dogs tonight?”

 

“Yes Mimi. We’ll be fine.”

 
Hmmm, okay….. Mimi thinks.

 

“Well honey, then give me a hug, I guess I can go home now.”

“Okay, bye Mimi.”

My mother leaves the house and she sneaks around the corner to Elizabeth’s bedroom window to spy. Elizabeth chooses some music and turns on her CD player. She sings, she dances,   she twirls around with tights on her head. She grabs a book and sits on the floor to read. Time to potty, and wash her hands and brush her teeth and when she’s all done she changes the CD and puts on her pajamas. My mother has been outside for a good 20 minutes now. It starts to drizzle. Enough is enough, although it would have been interesting to see her make breakfast and feed the dogs in the morning and there is no doubt she would pull this off without incident.  My mother re-enters the house.

 

“Lizzy” she calls out.

“Mimi!” Elizabeth comes running a few seconds later clutching my mother’s make up bag.

 

“You forgot this!”

There was yet another time when she announced she was going to Hawaii. She packed her pink sequined purse with 2 pairs of panties and a toothbrush and she was off. Thank God she couldn’t reach the latch on the gate out of our yard. I firmly believe that only thing that was keeping her from succeeding in every way was her height.

My little one is a comedian. She’s 2. She’ll suddenly have you searching the house for her arms. She’s lost them (inside her shirt), and there’s never been anything funnier to her than finally revealing the missing appendages. Seeing her laughing hysterically is really the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.  

Recently when my husband was away, she came pitter-pattering into my bedroom at 5:30 in the morning. My mother ears hear everything buy my body was still in the coma stage. I have an old dollhouse in my bedroom that was mine as a child. Unfortunately it will soon officially be considered an “antique”. She comes in to play with the dollhouse in the dark. Click, clack, swoosh, click, clack. Tiny pieces of furniture are being moved around. Suddenly the little piano in the dollhouse starts playing “the entertainer.” Certainly it’s just a piece of miniature furniture but to my moments-before fast-asleep body it sounded like a rock concert. I want to throw her over the deck.  “Chloe, go downstairs to your bedroom.” I barely croak out. No response.  “Chloe, go downstairs to your bedroom.” Silence. She’s kidding me, right? I repeat once more…. Pitter-patter…, but not far enough. My brain knows I need more pitter-patters than that to get her to the end of the hallway and to the stairs.  “Chloe?….  Chloe?….  Chloe?…. My blood is boiling. I hear her sniffly little breathing. Now you’re in trouble. I am out of my bed, tottering around my room in the dark, feeling my way, calling her name. I can’t find her. Finally I see a shadow that doesn’t belong beside my husband’s nightstand. I reach out to touch the figure and it’s her standing as stiff as a board with her blanket over her head. How is it possible that she still thinks she’s invisible with a blanket over her head?  Honestly, I think she thinks she’s funny.  

I think she’s a riot when she sings the wrong words to songs and adds “poop” and “pee” to the lyrics, or when she concocts expressions like “church café” referring to the donuts and coffee that are served after church on Sunday. When she’s frightened of something, she says she’s “scary”. This happened a lot around Halloween. She says this very matter-of-factly but with eyes as big as quarters. She is especially “scary to” the Grinch. Christmas is long over, but every once in a while she will pull me aside and tell me “Mom, I’m scary to the Grinch,” and I say, “I’m sure you are Chloe.” You know, I bet you she’d give him a run for his money.

But my favorite assertion so far was when she discovered my barely there “bikini area” some months ago. She points to it and says with surprise, “Mom, you’ve got THAT.”  I look down, “yes I do.” “Yea,” she replies, “I don’t like it,” and walks out.

You just can’t make this stuff up. It is one of my favorite parts of parenting. They are worth their weight in laughs, even with a dirty diaper.

Peace (still trying to find it)
 

Stephanie Cismoski lives in Laguna Beach, California with her close to perfect husband and their three beautiful daughters; the eldest being a Rhodesian Ridgeback. Stephanie was born and bred in northern New Jersey, reaching her height of Jersey Girl perfection in the mid eighties. As a young girl she dreamed of marrying a rock star, even while she was supposed to be studying latin. She went to the University of Rhode Island where she studied English and Fine Art, still maintaining her rock star dream. Shortly after graduation she moved to Florida where she was apprehended by a golfer. They fell in love and moved, moved, moved around the country until finally settling in Southern California. She abandoned the long haired musician thing and married the most wonderful man alive, had dogs, had babies and poured martinis at sunset.