Warning: Please excuse my husband’s and my sense of humor if we offend you.  It is how we are coping.  If we don’t find the funny in our daily lives, then we’ll fall into heap on the floor and do the Homer Simpson in an infinite loop.

This morning I took Grace for her second MRI.  Her neurologist, whom my husband has derisively begun to call Dr. Nacho, has ordered the second scan to be sure that her brain isn’t degenerating.  Apparently, some rare degenerative neurological conditions present like schizophreniform mood disorders.  So, Dr. Nacho is doing her part to rule out any hidden medical conditions.  At 0830, I dosed her up with Diazepam aka Valium and dragged her off to get her head scanned.   She did well, and she even felt well enough to attend a charity event with our church’s youth group.

Pause: If you’ve attended a church youth group as a youth, then you might recall that it’s just like attending middle school or high school in its social dynamics. It’s not friendlier or more welcoming or even more sensitive.  In fact, in my experience, if you want to be made to feel left out–particularly by girls–attend a church youth group.  Relational aggression runs high.  It’s just the way it is.

Play: Grace’s older sister accompanied Grace to Feed My Starving Children today–the service event chosen by the youth group leaders for their outing today.  Grace really wanted to go.  It’s a marvelous charity, and I thought it would enhance Grace’s self-esteem, too.  She is still psychotic, but she is managing to hold it together enough during the day if she isn’t stressed terribly.  The Three Men follow her everywhere, but the Creepy Lady hasn’t shown up today.  The Three Men were also not brandishing swords which meant that her psychosis wasn’t terribly out of hand this morning.  I let her go.  Her youth leaders would be supervising her as well.  She needed to feel successful.

When we picked her up, she was smiling, but I could tell that she was exhausted.  Grace and her sister climbed into the car and reported that all went well.  Grace had the job of weighing the food.  She felt good about it.  Then, the story began.  There were three girls.  Three mean girls.

Grace:  “Why are there always mean girls? I don’t understand it.  This is church!”

Me:  “Well, who knows what’s going on with them.  People have all sorts of reasons for being mean.”

Grace:  “They were talking about this horror movie while we were packing food for starving kids.  How is that appropriate? (beginning to mimic one of the girls) ‘And then this baby had a demon go into it, and then the baby started walking around, and it was, like, sooooo creepy, but I wasn’t, like, scared at all!’ That is NOT okay conversation, Mom!”

My Husband:  “Well, you never know, maybe their parents made them watch that horror movie.  That’s some pretty convincing birth control, don’t you think?”

Grace: “DAD!”

My Husband: (putting on his stern Texan father voice) “Sit yourself down here, girls! You’re all gonna watch this horror movie about a devil baby! Now, you’re all gonna think twice, aren’t you, before you date, I bet!!”

Grace: “DAD!!”

My Husband: “Those devil babies are a real problem! How’re you gonna nurse a devil baby? They have those pointy teeth! And, they’ve got those red eyes! You can’t get rid of red-eye in all those portraits, can you? It wasn’t really a horror movie.  It was a fable!!”

Grace: “DAD!!!!”

Grace’s sister and I were laughing so hard that we couldn’t speak.  Perhaps you had to be there, but leave it to my husband to add some much needed levity to the situation.  Grace couldn’t even remember what she was upset about.  She was too upset with her father for talking about nursing devil babies and trying to take their pictures.  She completely forgot about mean girls, relational aggression, their cool iPhones, and the fact that she hasn’t been in school for two weeks.

Humor.  It is so important.


10 thoughts on “Humor

  1. I agree completely…
    God bless you, being a parent of a child with a mental illness is never easy.
    My brother had schizophrenia and he used to think that Jesus was talking to him. Every now and then he’d go to the hospital for a tune up, and one day I went to visit him and he was very happy and excited. He and Jesus were sharing a room! Used to his imaginary conversations, I followed him into his room while he introduced his new roommate…a nice young man with long blonde hair and a beard who thought he was in the hospital because he thought he was Jesus!

    • Why am I laughing? I…I don’t know whether to apologize or not. I am just living on the edge a bit, you know? We have one heckuva week ahead of us next week, and I think I’m just biding my time. Thanks so much for your comment. I hope your family is doing well.

  2. I’ve never attended a church youth group, but I regret it since I’m sure it would have changed my life for the better. I’m imagining what a few blow jobs in the church van would have done for me.

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