Saturday, September 18, 2010

Laughter is Good Medicine

I'm amazed at the body's ability to create tears.  Based on all the sobbing I've been doing since my brother's passing, I would have thought that I'd be all cried out a long time ago.  However, tears still somehow come to my eyes when the sadness returns.

I was crying in the shower late yesterday afternoon.  I believe that my brother was a Christian and, based on that belief, I am certain that he's in Heaven.  Trying to banish the tears for a few hours, I let my mind run with the notion that people in Heaven look down upon those who are left in this imperfect world. 

I was in the middle of washing my hair when I thought, "He's probably looking down on me right now."  I paused, hands up in my hair, and thought, "But I'm naked in the shower right now!  Hey, quit looking down on me right now, you big weirdo!"  And, just like that, my tears stopped and laughter erupted.  The absurdity of it all just cracked me up.

I have to say, it felt fantastic to enjoy a great big laugh.

* * *

My brother's wife told me that he liked reading my blog and hearing about my little boy.  So here's a quick story that he probably would have liked.  I'll bet he'd have said, "I love me some nephew."

I was making breakfast this morning and my son wouldn't move from standing in front of the fridge.  I asked him to step aside so I could close the door and make breakfast.  He kept pointing in the fridge and grunting while I kept trying to get him to move out of the way.  Finally, he starting crying, "TOAST!"

I was puzzled because I didn't even see a loaf of bread in there.  Then I noticed that there was a box of Texas Toast and, yes, the boy was pointing at the box.  I never buy Texas Toast, so I figured that my husband must have bought it while I was gone.

I asked, "Do you want Texas Toast?"


Okay, so I turned on the oven and tossed some slices on a pizza stone.  He kept dancing around the kitchen while chanting "Toast, toast, toast."  After the longest five minutes in history, the toast was finally finished. 

I cut his slice of toast into bite-sized pieces.  Still singing about toast, he ran to his spot at the dining room table and climbed up on his own.  He clapped his hands together to say the blessing before I even got our plates to the table.

Holy moly, that kid LOVES Texas Toast.  Like Sherman through Atlanta, he tore through the toast and just destroyed it.  There was nary a crumb by the time he was finished.

I called my husband and asked if he gave Toot Texas Toast every single day while I was gone since the boy seemed so obsessed with it.  My husband had no idea what I was talking about.  He said that the box of Texas Toast arrived before I got home and he never made it for the kiddo.

How did my son know that he'd like Texas Toast?  How did he know what was in the box?  And why in the world would my son think that toast comes in a box?  Could he have possibly read "toast?" 

Just another one of life's mysteries, I guess.

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