Back when I was pregnant with each of my three children, in between rubbing layers of cocoa butter on my expanding belly and devouring every page of the What to Expect bible, I forgot to wish for something.
Sure, I prayed that they'd be healthy, have all of their appendages and organs, you know, everything we ask for when we're expecting, but one thing I never thought to request was that they be funny. I guess I just assumed they would be.
Once each child was born, I wasn't really expecting much in the way of jokes or funny one-liners. In fact, I was more interested in chasing sleep and a quick shower.
But as the years passed, ever so quickly, and my children grew into their own, I began to notice something. They were funny. Each and every one of them. And they were my kind of funny.
As they neared their teen years, they grew even funnier, and the jokes we shared, though sometimes irreverent, kept the laughter growing in our home. To be honest, our home is never quiet; there's always some form of shouting, yelling and whatever other words you want to use to describe dysfunction meets chaos meets content. But we are never without laughter.
Recently, on a short drive through town, the children sat in the back of the minivan as I drove. It was dark and I could barely see, my eyes were blurred with tears and my knees locked together in an effort to prevent a sudden burst of pee brought on from uncontrollable laughter.
My kids are not just funny, they're stop-mom's-going-to-crash-the-car-and-pee-her-pants-funny, and for that I am grateful.
I often tell them to be sure to send me a little finder's fee when they hit it big on SNL or in a standup career, and we all laugh.
But I'm not kidding.
Shivaun Williams is a Bucks County, PA writer and mom of three. This post is adapted from her blog, Dar Liomsa (In My Opinion).
