The Crazy Lady at the Gas Station

Okay. Everybody ready? Here we go...SNL cheerleaders style:

Who's-the-crazy-lady-at-the-gas-station? It's me! It's me!

Sorry for that. I just couldn't resist.

So, really. I came to the realization the other day that most people that see me fill my car with gas must thing I'm absolutely nuts. Why? Because I've discovered it's prime time for evoking some serious laughs from the boys.

One of Caleb's favorite games is when I stand right outside his window and whistle, staring off into the sky. He bangs his fist against the window and I jump and startle. He thinks it's hilarious. Owen's favorite is when I do the classic comedic illusion of pretending to walk down stairs until I'm out of sight. Then I pop back up and surprise them both. I'm sure I don't do the trick well, but how hard is it to please a not-quite-two-year-old? Not too hard. There's also a plethora of funny faces, growls and peek-a-boos, all of which lead to uncontrolled peals of laughter.

I think that's probably what led me to realize just how ridiculous I must look. I was in the middle of sticking out my tongue at the boys, complete with thumbs in ears and wiggling fingers, when I saw my reflection in the window. At that point, I also realized just how dark the tint is on my windows. I can see the boys, because I'm right up close. But, to the average station patron, I'm sure I look like a lunatic. I can hear it now. "Mom, why is that lady popping up and down and making faces at her car?" "I don't know Sweetie. Try not to stare. Let's go somewhere else."

Oh well. Will I stop? Heck no. Just one of those great belly laughs makes it all worth while, even if the cost is my dignity. This certainly isn't the first time it's been sacrificed in the name of motherhood, and I'm sure it won't be the last.