Ep 57: The agony of innocence: How my kids tortured me with laughter

Last week my wife and I took our two youngest kids to Baja California, Mexico to expose them to the land of their father’s heritage, participate in Dia de los Muertos festivities and to celebrate my upcoming 50^th birthday. As a result, this year we forewent Halloween at home.

Nonetheless, our trip ended on a rather scary note, as our 4-year-old, Olivia Luz, and I were thrown off a horse the morning of the final day of our trip in Rosarito.

Luckily Olivia landed (on top of me) unscathed, but I landed flat on my back. I now clearly understand what it means to “get the wind knocked out of you,” as it took a rather long and frightful minute to get up and catch my breath. Albeit slowly, I could still walk and seemingly had no broken bones—at most a back full of bruises, a few pulled muscles and a black-and-blue ego.

Alas, a day after our return home, I sneezed violently and it now appears that what may have been a hairline rib fracture is now a broken bone, as indicated by the ensuing excruciating pain.

According to the doctors, there's nothing you can do for a broken rib but to wait six weeks while it heals and endure the pain. Thank God, I've got a lot of Ibuprofen and Tylenol for that.

And of course, there’s our family’s sense of humor that will help me heal faster…or not.

Last night I was explaining to the littlest ones, our five-year-old Milo and Olivia, how much my injury hurts. "If I laugh, cough, sneeze—or even burp—I get a sharp pain on my side..."

Without missing a beat, Olivia Luz looked at me, smiling, "Or fart..."

Ugh. Of course, I laughed hysterically—and so much, that I was crying from the pain and had to run out of the room and pour myself a glass of bourbon.

Milo quickly caught on that I could be a great source of amusement for the rest of the evening and tried to make me laugh at every possible moment: from breaking out in hysterical laughter by simply looking at me, to spontaneously making funny noises and doing a silly monkey dance in the shower.

Despite my earnest pleas and attempts to get angry as an attempt to control my painful glee, my pleas for mercy only made things worse. I’d half-wretch and whisper-scream "Not funny!," which, of course, only made it allthemore funnier.

At dinner, Olivia likewise caught the funny-fever and looked at me mid-fork to say, "Poo-poo." My cough-cum-choke sent me gasping for air into the kitchen.

Upon my return Milo turned to me and said, "Knock-knock..." My only recourse was to run away again and pour myself another.

As a result of all this, I’ve learned that certainly “laughter may be the best medicine,” but it can also be a painful one.