This is a story about me and stuff I find funny. If آپ know me, آپ might expect this to be long and rambling...and chances are, you're probably right. I wrote this as I tell the story out loud, so imagine as آپ read it that I'm actually speaking it to you...or try reading it aloud. I think it's better that way.
I have a five-year-old son and a daughter who just turned two. At the moment, my wife, two kids and I are living in a mobile ہوم with three other adults. To say that it's cramped is an understatement. My family is all crammed into one bedroom: Blake in a sleeping bag at the foot of the bed, Lucia in a پالنے, پالنا اگلے to the bed, and a little aisle from the بستر to the door so we can get in and out of the room. Both of my kids are restless sleepers, which basically means that they compete in triathlons in their sleep: legs flailing, arms pumping. At times we try to comfort one یا the other when they've had a nightmare سے طرف کی bringing them into بستر with us, but they invariably start punching and kicking as soon as they fall asleep. Seriously, it's like a wushu academy with us frantically blocking and parrying. So سے طرف کی now we comfort them and toss 'em back in their own sleeping places. With Blake it's easy - he generally goes back to sleep quite easily (even with growing pains), and then آپ can tell where he's asleep سے طرف کی the banging on the closet door, which he kicks through his sleeping bag as it rolls enthusiastically around the room. But Lucia is often harder to get to sleep: she often wants to talk in her own halting, toddler-ish way. She's at the point in her development where she likes to repeat what others say.
This cramped living reminds me of a couple of گزشتہ times in my life. One of them was when I was a college student, many years ago. While I was studying at San Jose State University, for a time I lived in student housing on campus. This of course created lots of stories to tell, but I'm thinking of one in particular. My سیکنڈ roommate, Dave, was a big contrast to the first: he hardly drank, dressed well, mostly paid attention to his studies, and we also had some things in common. What we didn't have in common was sleep. He liked to have seven یا eight hours of sleep a night, and I've never understood why anyone would sleep longer than they had to in order to function. I even made the first of Harold's Rules on the subject, after all.
My friend Fred would come sometimes down to visit me at the university, toting his sleeping bag so he could camp out on the floor over the weekend. My roommate Dave was amenable to this, but after the first couple of nights he had made it clear with his complaints that he wasn't interested in staying up all night and he'd appreciate it if we wouldn't keep him awake. So, one Friday, Fred arrives and we leave his sleeping bag in the room and, trying to respect Dave's wishes, we then go out for the evening. We get something to eat for dinner, probably hit a local club for a concert, spend some time playing pool and wandering around downtown at night. Chances are there is some amount of girl-watching, too. Eventually we figure it's time to turn in, so we headed back to the residence hall (named "Moulder Hall", believe it یا not) and make our way upstairs, past all the rooms where other parties are happening. Our spirits are high, we're laughing and joking, feeling loose, and when we get to the room, I put the key in the lock, turn to Fred and say in my best Elmer Fudd-voice: "Be vewwy vewwy quiet!"
This, of course, killed us. We snuck into the room, trying with all our might to not break into loud giggles that threatened to burst forth as we tried to be quiet and respect Dave's sleep.
If you've ever been in a situation where آپ want to laugh but it's completely not appropriate, then آپ probably know how difficult it is. Everything became funny. We stumbled around in the dark, bumping into things, and that was even funnier. We snorted a couple of times as Fred unrolled his sleeping bag and I climbed ever so gingerly into the سب, سب سے اوپر bunk above Dave, muscles in our jaws bulging as we clenched our teeth to keep the laughter in check. We would not wake Dave!
We laid there, nearly silent, both wide awake, both desperately thinking of sad stuff to dispel the humor of the situation. After a few منٹ of deep breathing, we had mostly regained control when Fred, his eyes adjusting to the gloom, wasn't sure that he was really seeing the faint red glow of the smoke alarm and whispered: "Do آپ have a red light on your ceiling?" At this point, that plain statement was received as pure comic gold, and we were convulsed with trying to contain our laughter again, hissing and snorting. Each new, suppressed outburst would be followed سے طرف کی deep, gasping breaths. Then we'd calm down until one یا the other would snort and send us off again. We were trying so hard to be quiet and just go to sleep. About ten منٹ after we'd opened the door, Dave کہا in a dolorous voice: "I can hear you, آپ know."
Well, the dam burst at that point: "WAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Poor Dave; we must have laughed for five منٹ straight, guffawing from the pits of our stomachs.
************************************
So the other day, Lucia woke up crying in her پالنے, پالنا and so I went in to try to calm her. Lately this has involved my creeping into the room, stepping past Blake in his sleeping bag (I can hear the banging before my eyes adjust to the darkness), picking up Lucia and holding her as I breathe slowly and deeply, sometimes singing softly but always pacing up and down the narrow aisle, until she goes to sleep. I'm not the most patient person (not a surprise to most of you), so sometimes I've put her down too early, and when I do she jumps up and shrieks at me again.
Through this trial and error, I've discovered that I need to walk her for at least five منٹ to ensure that she's deeply asleep before I place her back in her crib. Sometimes I even close my eyes, because I have walked back and forth so much that I remember where to put my feet, and otherwise she sees that my eyes are open so she tries to interact with me. So I'm pacing, breathing softly, and a quick peek at the clock tells me that my back must endure just thirty مزید سیکنڈ before I can put her down and sneak out to finish my supper. Then, unfortunately, I bang my ankle against the rocking chair. I say nothing, wincing inside, but Lucia lifts her head and says brightly: "Ow! That hurt me!"
Suddenly I'm back in college as Blake and I are trying desperately to not burst out in gales of laughter, and failing. Just like Fred and I, Blake is feeding me little giggles and snorts just when I think I have the hilarity under control. If there was any doubt he was my son, this would have quelled it.
Eventually, after five منٹ of trying not to laugh, I give up and put Lucia back in her crib, wide awake.
Sometimes آپ just can't not laugh.
I have a five-year-old son and a daughter who just turned two. At the moment, my wife, two kids and I are living in a mobile ہوم with three other adults. To say that it's cramped is an understatement. My family is all crammed into one bedroom: Blake in a sleeping bag at the foot of the bed, Lucia in a پالنے, پالنا اگلے to the bed, and a little aisle from the بستر to the door so we can get in and out of the room. Both of my kids are restless sleepers, which basically means that they compete in triathlons in their sleep: legs flailing, arms pumping. At times we try to comfort one یا the other when they've had a nightmare سے طرف کی bringing them into بستر with us, but they invariably start punching and kicking as soon as they fall asleep. Seriously, it's like a wushu academy with us frantically blocking and parrying. So سے طرف کی now we comfort them and toss 'em back in their own sleeping places. With Blake it's easy - he generally goes back to sleep quite easily (even with growing pains), and then آپ can tell where he's asleep سے طرف کی the banging on the closet door, which he kicks through his sleeping bag as it rolls enthusiastically around the room. But Lucia is often harder to get to sleep: she often wants to talk in her own halting, toddler-ish way. She's at the point in her development where she likes to repeat what others say.
This cramped living reminds me of a couple of گزشتہ times in my life. One of them was when I was a college student, many years ago. While I was studying at San Jose State University, for a time I lived in student housing on campus. This of course created lots of stories to tell, but I'm thinking of one in particular. My سیکنڈ roommate, Dave, was a big contrast to the first: he hardly drank, dressed well, mostly paid attention to his studies, and we also had some things in common. What we didn't have in common was sleep. He liked to have seven یا eight hours of sleep a night, and I've never understood why anyone would sleep longer than they had to in order to function. I even made the first of Harold's Rules on the subject, after all.
My friend Fred would come sometimes down to visit me at the university, toting his sleeping bag so he could camp out on the floor over the weekend. My roommate Dave was amenable to this, but after the first couple of nights he had made it clear with his complaints that he wasn't interested in staying up all night and he'd appreciate it if we wouldn't keep him awake. So, one Friday, Fred arrives and we leave his sleeping bag in the room and, trying to respect Dave's wishes, we then go out for the evening. We get something to eat for dinner, probably hit a local club for a concert, spend some time playing pool and wandering around downtown at night. Chances are there is some amount of girl-watching, too. Eventually we figure it's time to turn in, so we headed back to the residence hall (named "Moulder Hall", believe it یا not) and make our way upstairs, past all the rooms where other parties are happening. Our spirits are high, we're laughing and joking, feeling loose, and when we get to the room, I put the key in the lock, turn to Fred and say in my best Elmer Fudd-voice: "Be vewwy vewwy quiet!"
This, of course, killed us. We snuck into the room, trying with all our might to not break into loud giggles that threatened to burst forth as we tried to be quiet and respect Dave's sleep.
If you've ever been in a situation where آپ want to laugh but it's completely not appropriate, then آپ probably know how difficult it is. Everything became funny. We stumbled around in the dark, bumping into things, and that was even funnier. We snorted a couple of times as Fred unrolled his sleeping bag and I climbed ever so gingerly into the سب, سب سے اوپر bunk above Dave, muscles in our jaws bulging as we clenched our teeth to keep the laughter in check. We would not wake Dave!
We laid there, nearly silent, both wide awake, both desperately thinking of sad stuff to dispel the humor of the situation. After a few منٹ of deep breathing, we had mostly regained control when Fred, his eyes adjusting to the gloom, wasn't sure that he was really seeing the faint red glow of the smoke alarm and whispered: "Do آپ have a red light on your ceiling?" At this point, that plain statement was received as pure comic gold, and we were convulsed with trying to contain our laughter again, hissing and snorting. Each new, suppressed outburst would be followed سے طرف کی deep, gasping breaths. Then we'd calm down until one یا the other would snort and send us off again. We were trying so hard to be quiet and just go to sleep. About ten منٹ after we'd opened the door, Dave کہا in a dolorous voice: "I can hear you, آپ know."
Well, the dam burst at that point: "WAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Poor Dave; we must have laughed for five منٹ straight, guffawing from the pits of our stomachs.
************************************
So the other day, Lucia woke up crying in her پالنے, پالنا and so I went in to try to calm her. Lately this has involved my creeping into the room, stepping past Blake in his sleeping bag (I can hear the banging before my eyes adjust to the darkness), picking up Lucia and holding her as I breathe slowly and deeply, sometimes singing softly but always pacing up and down the narrow aisle, until she goes to sleep. I'm not the most patient person (not a surprise to most of you), so sometimes I've put her down too early, and when I do she jumps up and shrieks at me again.
Through this trial and error, I've discovered that I need to walk her for at least five منٹ to ensure that she's deeply asleep before I place her back in her crib. Sometimes I even close my eyes, because I have walked back and forth so much that I remember where to put my feet, and otherwise she sees that my eyes are open so she tries to interact with me. So I'm pacing, breathing softly, and a quick peek at the clock tells me that my back must endure just thirty مزید سیکنڈ before I can put her down and sneak out to finish my supper. Then, unfortunately, I bang my ankle against the rocking chair. I say nothing, wincing inside, but Lucia lifts her head and says brightly: "Ow! That hurt me!"
Suddenly I'm back in college as Blake and I are trying desperately to not burst out in gales of laughter, and failing. Just like Fred and I, Blake is feeding me little giggles and snorts just when I think I have the hilarity under control. If there was any doubt he was my son, this would have quelled it.
Eventually, after five منٹ of trying not to laugh, I give up and put Lucia back in her crib, wide awake.
Sometimes آپ just can't not laugh.
The JoKeR-!
