It’s not nice to laugh at other people, I tell the boys. And I believe it. Mostly.
But our dear Rosí, the foreign exchange student who’s here this summer, just told me a story about what happened while we were camping last weekend.
She thought she found chocolate. She was so excited. Very little of our food appeals to her and she was thrilled to find something she recognized.
She tried the plump bean of chocolate. That was actually licorice.
And she now thinks that maybe she won’t eat ever again.
I tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help it. I think mistaking black licorice for chocolate might have been the cruelest thing that happened to her the whole trip.
And potentially the most hilarious.
She got me back, though.
By 6:00 a.m., my children are shrieking with laughter. Every day. There is no morning too early for poop jokes, namecalling, and silliness.
And by 6:07 they’re shrieking in murderous rages at each other. What begins in joy ends in tears. At warp speed and quite loudly.
So Rosí has nicknamed my youngest El Gallo.
Because he crows loudly. Early. And often.
Guess the joke’s on me.
Just in case, though, I’m putting licorice in every cupboard of the kitchen.
Because I’m mean. And running on a constant adrenaline-plus-lack-of-sleep high.