When my oldest boy was right smack in the middle of "the ugly stage," he accidentally said something funny. He had no idea that it was funny, or why it was funny, but he did know that we laughed. Big mistake. HUGE! From that moment on, everywhere we went, the world was his stage.
"Hey. Mom. Tell 'em. Tell 'em that funny thing I said. Go ahead." And he'd wait~in full on prepubescent, mouth-corner mustard, eye-booger sporting anticipation~he'd wait. Bless his earnest heart. We'd lie, as any good parent would do, and tell him we'd tell them "later." Yeah, right. He eventually outgrew this...this unfortunate phase and now looks back with horror~as most of us do about things we were once loud and proud about.
So now I find myself in the position of trying to be funny. Hells bells, friends. Nobody wants that. I become ugly-stage Lisa, mouth breathing over your shoulder as you read my words, and asking with horrendously self-conscious eagerness and bad breath, "Is it funny? Huh? Is it? Tell me it's funny." Breath, breath, sniff, breath. Good heavens, I do NOT want to be that person.
So here's how this is going to play. It's called "lowered expectations." As in, take that high bar that you wanted to see me vault over, drop it to about a foot off the ground and I'll lift my knee yay high and step over it. I should clear it, just not in an exhilarating, action packed manner. If I stumble now and then, remember I warned you. And be grateful that my chin is not resting on your shoulder right now.