Parenting Guru: Bad jokes, bad breakups, and some pretty good cake

“So these two muffins are in the oven,” my sister, The Interminable Professor, began. The Big Kahuna’s eyes were wide with anticipation, his cheeks sucked in as he stifled a giggle. He knew his favorite aunt had something amazing coming at the end of the joke.

“And the first muffin turns to the second muffin,” the Interminable Professor continued, her fingers creeping up the Kahuna’s side, ready to tickle at a moment’s notice. “And he says, ‘Is it just me, or is it getting hot in here?’ And the SECOND muffin says…

She paused for effect, glancing sideways to make sure her audience was still rapt. My five-year-old son was barely breathing as he waited for the punch line.

“OH MY GOSH!” the Interminable Professor suddenly cried. “A TALKING MUFFIN!”

There was a moment of silence as the Big Kahuna took it in, then a startled, delighted gasp, and then the giggles. Gales of giggles, from both of them, and a dissolution into tickling and mayhem. Such is life between my sister and my firstborn, and this is how it was when she told him the first joke he’d ever remember and retell to friends, family, and strangers at the store.

A few months after the talking muffin made its way into the Kahuna’s consciousness, somebody whose name isn’t worth mentioning tried to destroy my sister. He probably doesn’t look at it that way, but after a committed relationship that spans almost a decade, there’s a certain amount of courtesy and decency that ought to accompany a breakup. And his way of breaking things off was far from courteous and decent. I’ll spare everyone the details, except to note that there were lies upon lies upon lies, and a faked life-threatening illness, and more indignities than Karma can possibly repay. And the Interminable Professor, quite rightly, was hurt by this great horribleness. More than hurt. Dissolved.

We still gathered as a family to celebrate her birthday. Even in the midst of horribleness, occasions matter. But the Interminable Professor wasn’t up to eating much, so there wasn’t any cake, my mother told us in hushed tones. She couldn’t see the point.

The Big Kahuna, not understanding grown-up things like breakups and complicated lies, was appalled. There HAD to be a cake, he said. It was a BIRTHDAY PARTY. There are CAKES at birthdays. He turned to me, his worried face suddenly alight, and said, “She can have a TALKING MUFFIN for her birthday, Mommy.”

His enthusiasm was impossible to deny, and suddenly, I realized that this was one of those moments in which a child knows far better than any of the rest of us what absolutely must be done. So he and I hopped into the kitchen together, pulled together some meager ingredients, and with a bit of (unskilled, tragically bad) artistry, we made two talking muffins, mouths propped open with toothpicks, leftover Christmas decorating sugar spilled clumsily inside for effect.

At dessert time that night, the Kahuna himself presented the strange creatures to the Interminable Professor amid a subdued chorus of “Happy Birthday.” My wan, listless sister looked at the plate, trying visibly to muster enthusiasm…and began to giggle. The delighted Kahuna joined her, and in that moment, to my ears at least, there was no difference between this laughter and the laughter they’d shared the night she first told him about the talking muffins. It was the first honest laugh I’d heard from her since the great horribleness just a week earlier. And the half of a muffin she managed to eat was some good progress, too.

The Big Kahuna perched next to her throughout dessert, happily chomping on muffin, chattering away to her about his baking adventure and pouring the red sugar into the muffins’ mouths. Her face as she listened was relaxed, open, almost — maybe just a little — happy. The Night of the Talking Muffins was a good moment in an unfathomably lousy time, and I probably remember it all the more fondly because it was so starkly in contrast to everything else that was going on. But I couldn’t help feeling proud of the Kahuna, who knew intuitively that the best way to show just how much he loved the Interminable Professor was to do what our family does best — come up with a crazy idea to remind her that we totally get her and love everything about her. Especially her stupid talking muffin joke.

How does your family pull together in hard times?

RRG Momma is a Shine Parenting Guru. When she’s not trying to figure out how to make talking muffins or helping the Big Kahuna add to his arsenal of bad jokes, she’s probably wrestling with the Little Maniac, trying to have an actual conversation with Loyal Husband, or blogging about kids, food, and family at Red, Round, or Green.


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