So my son’s therapist says to me this morning, “You use humor as a coping mechanism.”
Um, no buddy, I’m really just this jolly. really. And to be perfectly honest I’m having a hard time sitting here and not being the one who gets to talk the whole time. Okay, so maybe I do have issues. hmmmm
And maybe I do use humor sometimes to deal with my son, but you would too if you hung out with Mr. Serious all the time.
Honestly it can be so exhausting hanging out with someone who only sees things in black or white. All or nothing.
I’m the complete opposite. I’m the queen of gray areas; of bending rules; of seeing the exception; of claiming the middle ground. (Except when it comes to being on time–I’m always on time.)
But it never occurred to me that part of the reason my child is so anxious all the time is because he doesn’t trust me. Because he can’t understand sarcasm and therefore, never really understands what I’m saying and can never predict what I’ll do next. It never occurred to me that a member of my captive audience was not enjoying the show. It explains a lot.
John has mentioned to me before that I have issues with tone. He has nicely explained that sometimes when I think I am being hilarious I may actually be leaving my friends (and apparently my children) to wonder about my sanity.
Luckily John gets me. And I think most of my friends do, too. Especially Whitney, who I randomly met on Twitter, then stalked her until she agreed to meet me in person. (Then we both wondered if the other might be a serial killer, but decided Panera was an unlikely place for a blind date murder. Although, as it turned out, it WAS a likely place to have a random old man try to sit in your lap)
But it’s important to me that some people get me. And all of you who enjoy my brand of humor–get used to more of it. Because as part of my child’s new therapy, I’m supposed to stop being so funny around him, which means I may take it all out on you.
That’s right, I have to somehow find it deep inside of me to be serious and literal. That last part will nearly kill me. I can’t remember the last time I said anything and meant it literally. (Angie will know what I’m talking about–the two of us are famous for our hyperbole. Hey Ang, remember that time we watched Grease a million times in one night? What about the time we ate 10 gallons of coffee ice cream?)
But I’m going to give serious my best shot. I’m going to try to say what I mean and mean what I say, all without smirking. I’m going to stop telling my kids that we’re on our way to meet their new adoptive family when we’re really on our way to get ice cream. I’m really going to try to be serious.
But please, someone stop me if I start to seem like every other boring Mom out there. (Not YOU. I never mean YOU). I don’t want to become a complete bore. Just boring enough for my oldest child to relax.
And in all seriousness, that would make me happier than any funny thing I can think of.