My first born is hilarious....HIL-A-RI-OUS. Everyday. Often.
She generally treats us to a stand-up comedy routine once a day. She commands the stage in front of her daddy and me and starts the gig, throwing jokes and observations our way that generally leave us rolling. She sometimes throws in a few dance steps for good measure. But she also leaves me little treasure humors where I least expect them.
I just never know when I'm going to find a piece of 1 of 8 humor secreted for my discovery and subsequently snort my iced tea into my sinuses.
Several nights ago, I was staying up too late reading a book. I was honing in on the last few pages of the book, a commitment that had taken me 700 pages to reach. The story was reaching its dramatic conclusion when I flipped to the last page, the realization on the parts of the main characters that they were meant to be together.
And there, on the last page, written in 1 of 8 bubbly longhand, at the end of the last sentence, was the inscription, "And then they all died."
I laughed so hard I started shaking the bed and woke up Michael.
I sometimes find little comedic jewels left by 1 of 8 on my cell phone. She'll steal my phone, turn the camera on herself, and give a little click.
And there in the memory is a jocund gem of a jpeg, waiting for me to discover it.
Usually in a waiting room.
With other people around.
Who are trying to figure out why the crazy lady with the gaggle of kids is giggling hysterically to herself.
But what am I supposed to do when I find things like this?