So I joke.
I come from a family that jokes. One of my fondest memories of childhood was sitting around the dinner table laughing with my family. When one of us made a joke (my brother probably) (he is one of the funniest people on planet earth) they would look at someone else and say, "Now YOU say something funny." If you've never tried, it's near impossible to be funny on command. But we still gave it a shot. At our house, humor was no joke (painfully bad pun intended).
One of the many drawbacks to being impossibly funny (if I do say so myself) is that sometimes people don't think you're funny... They just think you're a world-class jerk. As I child, my grandpa was a real puzzler because I never could tell if he was serious or not. Turns out, he was usually joking. I didn't ever want to be like that. Turns out, I'm exactly like that.
To sum up so far: I am a remarkably kind human being who is simply misunderstood. Remember that.
Fast forward two weeks: The girl child brought home the rough draft of a descriptive paragraph she started at school. I was to help her edit and write the final draft. A cursory glance warmed my heart when I saw my name. How sweet. She wanted to write about me and the many sacrifices I make for her daily.
Nopes. This is what it said:
Oh for the love. After I stopped laughing and dried my eyes, after sending a picture of it to my jokster family members, and after putting it on Instagram we commenced with the edits and the final draft.
I asked why she didn't include all the hugging and the loooong debriefing session we had wherein I reminded her we share a long history of me NOT putting her in with lions that she could draw on for comfort in this (perplexingly) difficult time. Then we did some more hugging and I asked if she had anymore feelings she'd like to talk about. She said no. And skipped off. Happily. She didn't include it because she had no memory of it happening...once again, for the love.
During the editing process, I mentioned that the "my mom is a jerk" part really doesn't fit since the paragraph is, in fact, about Lions. I hinted that ending a paragraph highlighting her mom's lack of an appropriate verbal filter kinda opens a whole new can of worms when a final sentence is supposed to be a conclusion.
The child would not be swayed. She shall read it aloud to her class on Tuesday. And I shall wear a hat and glasses in the car line.
What's the funniest (most mortifying) thing that's been written about you? Please. I need to hear it.
I'm linking up today with my friend Anna Rendell on Real Mom Confessions. Pop over and read some. You'll feel really good about yourself afterwards.