My calling card in life is my incredibly loud laugh. Wanting to enjoy a movie? Don’t sit next to me. During the most inopportune times, I will get the “shhh, we-are-in-church, learn-to-control-yourself” giggle explosions of my childhood.
Those impulsive giggles then turn into a full blown belly laugh with a signature Julia Roberts guffaw to follow. And, it appears, the more someone makes fun of me, the harder it is to contain.
I’m not sure why this is—that I enjoy someone laughing at my shenanigans. I suppose it is because humor is my weapon of choice. My way to battle even the worst situations. And a surefire way to ensure I don’t take myself too seriously.
It seems each deployment gives me ample fodder for my sick sense of humor.
Recently, I broke my cardinal rule of deployments: I turned on the webcam. My husband, who happened to be chatting on IM with me, was shocked.
“Hold on! Why in the world are you sending your webcam? Are you sick? Mental? Deranged?” he asked. Of course, he accepted eagerly. He hadn’t seen my “real time” face in months.
I hadn’t put on makeup. Nice clothes. Or really any clothes at all other than my super-comfy, always-there-for-me jammies. But, I was ready to give him a small treat. Something to brighten his day.
Rather than my face (or any other unmentionables), I filled the webcam screen with my bloody arm. Then proceeded to show him the seven-inch cut and purple/black/green bruise on my ribs. Not to be forgotten was the lovely carpet burn which has now turned into a scar. A new “story” to share around the campfire “Well, kids, I got this scar…no, not that one–that one I got from a wayward and violent ping pong table. This one here, this thick, scaly looking scar, that happened from falling down our stairs.”
Yep. It seems carpeted stairs can actually cut you open. That and a flat rate care package box.
“What in the world did you do?” he asked. “I fell,” I answered. Surely this was obvious to him. “Where?” he asked. “Down our stairs,” I responded.
He was silent for several moments. Then, burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter. Tears running down his face. “How did you cut yourself so much on CARPET?” More laughter. Tears. Pointing.
Just what I needed. Someone to make fun of me. And, just like that….Julia entered the building. We sat and laughed until our eyes hurt from squinting and our bellies were sore. Release.
I thought I was the only person this deranged, this mentally cracked, to find hilarity in blood and falling. Until I “witnessed” Chris falling while on the phone.
Who knows what was said, what amazingly important world issue we were solving. When the sound of a phone hitting what must have been a train set filled my ears, I couldn’t help but wonder what happened.
From the distance, I could hear her calling, “Hang on! Dropped ya!” Already: giggles. Flashbacks to church explosions during hellfire sermons and my father’s unusually strong fingers pinching my ears.
“Okay. Sorry. Just broke my toe,” she said. The calmness in her voice sent me into a fit. Complete Pretty Woman, I-just-stuck-my-hand-in-the-jewelry-box explosion. “Sorry,” I said between bursts. “Um. Are you okay?” I asked, laughing uncontrollably. “Yeah. It is sideways,” she said. I could hear that she was crying. Then, to my complete delight, laughing.
“Of course I break my toe while he is gone, violin lessons are in a few minutes, and I can’t find the stupid spelling book to finish school today.” We both sat in silence for a moment. Then exploded.
“I’m going to have to fix it,” she said, just before I heard a sickening snap. I sucked in my breath and waited. “Yeah,” was all she said. But I could hear the fresh tears.
Then, her six-year-old’s voice entered the room. Immediately, I could feel Chris sit up straight. “Mommy, I can’t remember how to add these numbers,” she said. “It is the same as yesterday, honey,” Chris responded. “Just carry the one, okay?” she said, easily assuaging the fear of miscalculations as her daughter left the room.
“Now, why is it that she didn’t ask why I’m crying?” she said. There was no containing me after that.
“I’m going to have to find some tape and something to brace it,” she said. “I gotta get it all fixed before violin lessons.” Now, most people would go to the Dr. Or even call someone for help. Or cancel violin.
But not a military spouse. We find a way to tape it and go.
“I’m begging you to say that all you have in the house is a broken crayon and some scotch tape,” I said. With no other option, we laughed and cackled until I could hear her wheezing. And I missed her so much my heart ached. I so badly wanted to be there, next to her, laughing and pointing.
Because when it is all said and done, what else can you do? Laughter beats motrin and an x-ray with two kids in tow any day.
