Stand Up

So the kid's back from the funny farm, only nobody's laughing.

Except the preschoolers. They laugh all day. They think everything's funny. These days I'm taking my cue from them.

Take, for instance, Wednesday. Not the day, the word. Wednesday. The preschoolers think it's hilarious. They say it over and over until it comes out all wonky, by which time they're rolling on the floor like cue balls, laughing their little heads off. Then there's February. They can't get past the first syllable without spitting up all over the big ABC rug in an effort to hold back hysteria.

And that's just words. Can you imagine what mayhem ensues when the teacher can't find her glasses...again? or the phone rings during Silent Time? or one of them accidentally farts? I thought I'd have to break out the EpiPen the time Gina emerged from the bathroom trailing a banner of toilet paper from her teddy bear leggings.

This year we have a non-English-speaking student in class, and the possibilities for hilarity are endless. I mean, the little monsters are just about ready for primetime. A typical exchange:

"Class," I say, "can you think of some words that start with the letter T?"

"Tent!" hollers Donald.

"Truck!" hollers Leon.

"Tinkerbell!" hollers Abigail.

"Ironman!" hollers Jameson.

When the delirium subsides, having reminded myself once again that I'm actually getting paid to do this, I try a different tack.

"Class," I say, "how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Five!" hollers Deborah.

"Three!" hollers Martin.

"Eleven!" hollers Katherine.

"Ironman!" hollers Jameson.

The preschoolers are big on hollering. Apparently Ironman is big in the Philippines.

* * *

My father was big on hollering, though not so big on the Philippines, where he was stationed during World War II. I think of him whenever Jameson talks about "da Pillipeens," at least, I think that's what Jameson's talking about.

But I digress.

My father having been a world class hollerer, I vowed never to become a hollerer myself, a promise I more or less managed to keep, with a few notable exceptions: hunters, snowmobilers, Tea Partiers, and all those responsible for putting "Eat, Pray, Love" on the best-seller lists, you know who you are.

Then I became a parent.

Happy families are all alike, that's for sure. They're all fat. It keeps them from having to think. Once adipose tissue displaces the brain, you're on the La La Land Express, jack, next stop, Walmart!

Being of the unhappy family variety, we've always shopped at Target. So a few months back, during an Offgrounds, the warden calls it, I took the kid to Target in a sentimental moment, and she broke down. In shampoo. I mean, she went down. Hit the floor. Seems the sheer number of choices was too much for her. I'm with her there, I've been known to start blathering aloud in lightbulbs.

So that's where I found her, on her knees one aisle over, tears hidden behind a cascade of hair. I knelt down and took the bottles from her basket and pretended to read the labels.

"'For Big Hair'," I read. "'For Humongous Hair'."

"Mom," she whispered, "where were you? I didn't know where you were."

"'For Morbidly Obese Hair'," I continued. "'For Hair in Need of a Stomach Bypass'."

"Mo-ommm!" she whispered, but she couldn't help it, she started to smile. Then she started to giggle. Then I started to giggle. Then we started to hiccup and snort and somehow managed to get to our feet and stagger through the store and out the automatic doors into the parking lot, where we leaned against each other and laughed until we cried, then cried some more.

That was October.

So now it's February. The kid's home for good, this ain't no Offgrounds, it's three weeks today. So I stopped by Target and picked up a couple bottles of that shampoo, which I've gift-wrapped and plan to give to her on Monday, which is Valentine's Day. I'm hoping for a laugh, but I'll settle for an eye roll.

Of course I'm taking my cue from the preschoolers, for whom not all things humorous are equal. Because while they laugh at pretty much anything, the preschoolers believe the cupid silhouette I hung on the door is pretty much the funniest thing they've ever ever ever seen. And they might be onto something. Last year's class felt the same way.