I introduced the kiddos to the Sweetie Pie’s ancient (a cassette player? What?!?) stereo system. I lie in bed every morning questioning the wisdom of this move, as the echoes of Mary Poppins flood the bedroom. Really, this post has nothing to do with Mary Poppins. I just felt like I needed to explain the title. It’s because whenever I see the birds in the garden, I start singing “Feed the birds, tuppence a bag”. If I turn on the oven I think “Chim-chiminee-chim-chiminee chim-chim-chiree”. And, no joke, as I’m typing I hear the Sweetie Pie tucking the Peanut into bed and singing “It’s a jolly holiday with Mary”. So naturally, if I’m thinking about laughter, my mind resounds with “I love to laugh! Ha ha ha ha!” Anyway.
The best way to pass the final weeks of a very long pregnancy? With a book that makes you laugh. Preferably at yourself. Here’s my latest one:
May I heartily recommend that anyone who is looking for a wholesome, light-hearted memoir snatch up a copy of this little gem? He makes me laugh. Not the way I laugh when watching America’s Got Talent (which is fine too, in its own way), but laugh in a way that makes me feel like I haven’t spent the past 6 months in a basement bedroom watching trashy television shows. Like I’ve been living my normal daily life, and here’s someone showing it back to me and saying “Your life isn’t boring! It’s funny! Lighten up and laugh at yourself!”
This passage, for example, perfectly describes breakfast in our house. In reality, staring across the table at a sighing 4-year-old singing songs about how she hates oatmeal, it feels a bit like drudgery. But Mr. Perry makes me look with favor and good humor on our 50-pound bags of oats, and 5-gallon-buckets of coconut oil.
Five days a week we got oatmeal. Plain, gray, factory-grade oatmeal possibly useful as masonry mortar. In fairness to Mom, there were occasional deviations into decadence–farina with raisins! cornmeal with molasses! and on Fridays she would indulge her profligate inner hedonist by stirring fourteen generic chocolate chips into a pot of oatmeal the size of your head…On Saturday we got pancakes, but I was legal to vote before I realized you do not make maple syrup by dissolving two tablespoons of brown sugar in a pan of hot water. Bottom line: if you had breakfast at our house on a weekday, odds are it originated from a twenty-five-pound bag or a thirty-two-gallon plastic trash can.