chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things

giggling…

D in barrelWe’d be sitting at the kitchen table, the three of us — my parents, me — eating dinner, talking about our day, whatever it was we talked about, and something would trigger us — a word, a bit of nonsense, something said in seriousness that struck us as absurd. Suddenly my mother and I would be giggling. Helpless to stop, nearly calming then setting each other off again, we’d hold our stomachs and wipe our eyes, try not to look at each other, ride the waves of giggles one after another until we were spent.

My father would settle back and watch the two of us, knowing that, for the moment, any hope of conversation was lost. Mostly, he wouldn’t interfere. But sometimes we might glance over at him and though he was sitting there looking perfectly normal, watching us, one of his eyes would be completely closed without any other disruption to his face, or his tongue would be stuck out, touching the end of his nose, and we’d dissolve into another round of giggles.

At those moments, which happened perhaps a half-dozen times a year, maybe more, the tension and judgments and expectations and disappointments would dispel and my mother and I would be, for a few minutes, girlfriends.
—–
photo: my funny mother before I knew her

2 responses to “giggling…

  1. marsha addis September 14, 2012 at 11:01 am

    Oh Judy, once again, as so many times in the past, I am reminded of how alike our mothers were, and how alike our experiences with them were.

  2. jik September 14, 2012 at 12:14 pm

    Indeed. Thanks. xo

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