Imagine, sitting in a van with three brothers on a twelve hour drive with a deranged man at the wheel. My father was a man on a mission during those summer vacations and if he didn't feel like stopping, we didn't stop (Unless of course the DQ fairies took control of the van and magically forced us off the highway).
Now imagine, this van pulling a full size camper, hauling ass down the highway, at say, 50 mph (I'm giving my Dad the benefit of the doubt and assuming he did slow down a little) while my mother holds my younger brother's head out the window so he can throw up. I'm sitting in the second of the two bench seats to afford myself the best view of this spectacle as it unfolds. Well, poor brother DOES throw up and in an instant I see the entire right hand side of our van splattered, plastered, ... yuck.
And I burst out laughing. Despite scoldings and the threat that doing so might mean that I'll have to clean it up (I didn't) I'm laughing, really hard. I'm laughing now, in fact. I really did feel bad for my brother, but I ended up on the floor of our van, crying with laughter.
No matter how hard I try not too, I always laugh at these situations. And it seems I'm afforded many opportunities to bust my gut.
I'm on a flight with my 15 mo son. A ten hour flight with turbulence. The kid is sick, but so far I've managed to avoid getting any on me. And I haven't been laughing. I'm miserable.
We're in a bit of a rough spot and it's fasten seat belts for everyone. I have my kid in my lap, trying to comfort him. In a sleepy stupor he throws up on me, not once, but twice. We're both covered in it and I can't even get up to change. I just look at my husband and see that look (that "oh dear god this flight can't get any worse" look) and I burst out laughing. I'm trying not to because I don't want to wake my sleeping vomit covered baby. But I'm crying with laughter. No longer miserable... feeling gross, yes, but not miserable. Even the cringing looks of the other passengers when I finally have a chance to get up and go change my shirt make me chuckle.
So perhaps, this is the moral of my life. All these "shit-hits-the-fan moments" maybe are just a reminder for me to laugh more. Pushing me to see just how much I can get from every second of this life. Today, for instance, my son poltergeist-ed in three different places in a glorious effort to get to the bathroom... these moments are the tangible evidence in my life that some greater force in the universe must love me.