What If You Laugh

Fake it until you make it–it works!

Fake it til you make it! — I feel better already!

I saw a bit of a show on laughter. You probably won’t be surprised at this point that I cannot remember what show or even whether it was on television or the computer! At any rate there apparently is some research that indicates that even if you fake a smile or laugh, your mood will improve. In what appeared to be another country, a woman was leading a diverse group of people in, well laughing. The group would chant together “ha ha hee hee hee” over and over. Eventually everyone was truly laughing and the group appeared to be happy.

So tonight homework wasn’t going so well. My daughter just could not focus on her math and was very frustrated. We were both frustrated. It is always my goal (notice I said goal, I don’t always achieve this goal) to keep schoolwork enjoyable, or at least not unpleasant. I didn’t worry about this with my older children (just ask them!) but she is delayed and in addition to school, attends quite a bit of tutoring and therapy. So far she loves school and all her teachers and therapists, so I don’t want to mess that up by making homework miserable.

Anyway, tonight it was not going well. I was completely out of ideas when suddenly a picture of the woman leading the laughter group flashed through my head. Unfortunately it was not accompanied by the sound track, so I improvised. I said everybody say what I say: “Ha ha who who who.” Nobody joined in but I did have their attention. After a couple of minutes it started coming back and I remembered the chant resembled a laugh, and realized that” who who who” was probably not right, unless you are leading owls. Nonetheless, by the time I came to this realization both my little ones were giggling, so mission accomplished.

After a few minutes of fun, she settled right down and finished her homework! And we were all happier.

p.s. for those of you too shy to try this at the office, I read or heard somewhere else that I can’t remember, that holding a pencil in your teeth sort of forces your mouth into a smile like position and has the same happy effect.

My Memory is Just Fine, Thank You

The Dreaded ScaleOf course I was distracted! — The Dreaded Scale
Of course I was distracted!

I should probably quit posting these stories about myself but I’m on a roll.

The other day I went to the gynecologist for my annual visit. This is something I dread, not so much because of the exam, but because it is one of the two times a year that I weigh. My weight was exactly what I thought it was. And hoped it wasn’t. So in my defense I was distracted, trying to figure out how to lose weight without actually giving up anything I like.

Anyway, this is how the conversation with the nurse went:

Nurse: When was your last period?
Me: I have no idea.
Nurse: Have you had one since you were here last December?
Me: I have no idea. Did I have one before then?
Nurse: Looks at me for a moment and makes a note.

Nurse: You have reached the age where we recommend a colonoscopy. Have you had one?
Me (proudly): Yes.
Nurse: What doctor?
Me: I have no idea.
Nurse: Where did you have it done?
Me (with absolute certainty): Here.
Nurse: (looking through the records): We have no record of it; are you sure?
Me: I am sure I had one.
Nurse: I’ll check the other clinic–yes, it was was with Dr. Moore. When did he tell you to return?
Me: I have no idea.
Nurse: Was it in 5 years?
Me: Really, I have no idea.
Nurse: Another look, another notation.

Nurse: I am afraid to ask the next question. Are you taking any medication other than Cymbalta?
Me (proud again): Yes!
Nurse: What are you taking?
Me: The one I can’t think of right now, but usually say when I am trying to remember Cymbalta.
Nurse: Another look.
Me: Well, it starts with a C, it has a lot of ads, it’s an anti-inflammatory and it sounds happy.
Nurse: Long pause with that look again. Do you mean Celebrex?
Me: Thats it!

At that point she hurried out of the room and didn’t come back!

Alzheimer’s Part Two

Really? More uplifting than my mental lapses, so I'll go with it. — Really? More uplifting than my mental lapses, so I’ll go with it.

I just realized that I failed to disclose ALL my mental mishaps last weekend. In addition to the butter, match and cornbread incidents, I also drove to the store with the intention of purchasing chips, Velveeta, Ro-Tel diced tomatoes and beer. Four items. I got home with several bags of groceries, but do you think there was any Velveeta? Not a chance!

No worries, there was plenty of beer!

My last, but perhaps most annoying, lapse was my ToDo list. I spent the morning putting my ToDo list in priority order. Then I decided to do some formatting, cut the entire list and forgot to paste it. Yep, you read that. Gone. Months of accumulating ToDos, a morning organizing it, and now its gone.

I have decided to look at it as a fresh start.

There’s only one problem. What should I do today?

hmmmm, the possibilities are endless. . .

Early Onset Alzheimer’s?

Don't you use a lighted match to fertilize your flowers?! — Don’t you use a lighted match to fertilize your flowers?!

“Just think how much fun you will have watching me 20 years from now!” I say to my husband who is laughing hysterically.. This is after he asked where the butter dish was and I said I just put it back in the fridge. “Well its not in there,” he says. Sure enough, it’s in the microwave. That’s where everyone puts their butter, right?

Yesterday I was chatting with my husband and arranging flowers. I opened a drawer to get out some flower food and found myself looking at the matches, selecting one and striking it. As I stare at the flame wondering what I was going to light, my 8 year old says, “Mom, what are you doing?” “I have no idea, absolutely no idea. My husband is just staring, speechless, as I blow out the match, spot the flowers and remember the plant food. I try to carry on as if this is normal (because in my world it is) and we both burst into laughter.

It does not help that the night before, I opened the oven to find my cornbread is flat—no rise at all. What happened I squeak, as I anxiously look down the ingredient list—ah, baking powder. Apparently baking powder is the difference between a nice corn muffin and a hockey puck. Good information to have. . .

I look forward to seeing what today holds.

If I Look Like a Grandma, What Does My Mom Look Like?

I gave birth to my youngest child at age 45. He is now 6 and I am 51. There are pros and cons to having children at this age. Fortunately for my son, one of the pros is that things that used to make me mad or sad now often make me laugh.

For example, the other day we were at the doctor’s office waiting for an appointment. He and another girl were playing with the toys provided and I was enjoying some rare magazine time. (Is there anyone but me that absolutely loves a non-urgent doctor visit where the doctor is running WAY late? A golden, guilt free opportunity to read something frivolous.) Anyway, at some point he called me mom. The little girl he was playing with exclaimed, “That’s your mom! She looks like a Grandma!!!” He leans over close to her and whispers in one of those tones that is louder than a normal voice, “I knooowww. . . .”

Damn, I guess he has noticed. Oh well, I can still run laps around most of the young moms.

The question I am hesitant to ask is, “If I look like a Grandma, what does Grandma look like?!” Probably best to just teach him the Silence is Golden rule.