I think I might be sleep deprived. It's the only excuse I can come up with to explain my behavior at last night's dinner table. And since I had gotten up at 4:00am for the past couple of days, I'd like to think my excuse holds water. But just to be sure, I'll tell you all about it. You can let me know if you agree, or you can gently nudge me toward someone with the ability to write out a prescription.
So there we were, sitting around the dinner table enjoying some potato soup, steamed broccoli and fantastic roasted garlic-y bread. It was a really nice meal, and it was great family time -- especially because both kids were in unusually good moods. We'd been able to get through most of dinner without incident, and without much cajoling about how much of each item they had to eat. Landis, having polished off his potato soup and all of his broccoli, was interested in another piece of bread. And being that he is three, he is also very interested in doing it himself. I cut a piece of the bread and passed it to him.
"I want to cut the butter!" he announced.
We let him try. Except that the hunk of butter he was carving off was huge -- even by my own butter-lovin' standards -- so Mike took over.
"Here buddy. Let's try this." says Mike, and cuts a more reasonable piece off the butter dish. Surprisingly, Landis is pleased. I am expecting a fit, a total melt-down about how he wants to do it, but no. He's happy. So happy in fact, that he gives his butter a little pat and says "Hey daddy. Look at my butter. I'm a butter-cutter!"
The phrase Butter-Cutter made me chuckle. (Say it. Say it right now. Out loud. It's funny, isn't it? Butter-Cutter. Butter-Cutter. The more I thought it, the funnier it got.) Mike corrected him. "Actually Landis, I cut that butter for you."
"Well then," I announce, laughing a little harder "I guess that makes YOU the Butter-Cutter!" And then I lost it. Shoulders shaking, body convulsing, barely able to sit up, all out cracking up. "No! Wait!! Wait!!!" I gasp. "You can be the HEAD BUTTER-CUTTER and Landis can be your apprentice!! He can be the JUNIOR BUTTER-CUTTER!!"
I collapse again into gales of laughter, bent sideways in my chair, howling like a hyena and using my napkin to dab at the tears streaming down my cheeks. Mike and the boys are sitting there staring at me, and I can tell that they are wondering just what it was, exactly, that pushed me over the edge.
I tried hard to compose myself, I really did, but I think I was too far gone.
"Or maybe........Or maybe........." I gasp again "if you'd like a higher ranking, you can be a King! KING BUTTER-CUTTER! Landis can be the Prince!"
And back down I go, convulsing and rocking and crying and knee-slapping.
Mike slowly shakes his head back and forth. "Well boys..........I do believe your mother has finally lost it." He watches the hysteria for a few more minutes and then says "Will you guys excuse me from the table please?" He pushes back his chair and makes his way over the the sink to start dishes.
"Me too!" shouts Landis. He climbs down from his chair and carries his plate over to Mike. I try harder to get a grip and finally.....finally......I think I can start to pull myself together. I dab at my tears one more time.
"I think maybe I need to be excused from the table too" I manage to say.
"Oh no." Mike replies from his station at the sink "The only people with permission to get up from the table are the butter-cutters." Which sends me back to the floor in hysterics yet again.
I don't know exactly how long it took, but eventually I was able to be composed enough to excuse myself from the table like a normal person. But I have to admit that I laughed - hard - in small spurts for the rest of the evening. So what do you think? Do I need to be medicated? I think the butter-cutters are worried about me.
Surprising no one
3 years ago