Now that's just inappropriate!

Shhhh...Wubster! When we're hiding we have to be quiet!
Beeee kiet!
Yeah...quiet. Hush...he's coming
[uncontrollable giggling]
Daddy?!? Beee kiet!
Sorry...

I can maintain a steely resolve with the best of 'em if the stars align, but, typically, I'm more likely to laugh in situations where laughter isn't appropriate. Not that I'm rude and randomly laugh at funerals or in line at the DMV, but I can recall a couple classes, a staff meeting or two, one last-date make-out session, and many a game of hide-n-seek that've lost their mojo because of my giggling.

As a parent attempting to discipline the hijinks of two young boys, I'm discovering plenty of new situations where controlling my laughter would be smart.

Calming your son during his night terrors?
Not giggle time.

Comforting your screaming son during an ear infection?
Not giggle time.

Explaining to your son that we don't kick the dogs?
Not giggle time.

Telling your son to tell your wife her new haircut looks great?
Not giggle time.

Picking your sleeping son up to move him to his bed and having him roll over and fart in your face?
Not giggle time [until the boy's in bed and you're out of the room]

Also, I know 'poopy' is not the adjective we'd like the Wubster to use with reckless abandon...

Hi poopy Poppy!
Hi poopy puppy!
Hi poopy daddy!
Knock Knock...Who's there?...Poopy!

...but sometimes he's adorable enough that it's definitely giggle time.

And as much as I despise Mini-Me's inability to sit still at the dinner table, he'll occasionally make a comment or face that sends me into a fit of napkin-covered giggles.

Tonight I was forced to walk the Wubster to time-out while stifling smiles after he brained Mini-Me with a hit so big I expect he'll get a letter from Roger Goodell and the league later this week.

Mini-Me had been 'shooting' the Wubster for twenty-minutes or so and, each time, the Wubster would collapse to the floor grunting. I have no idea where or when he picked that up, but it was AWESOME!

Of course, big bro conveniently refused to take a fall any time the Wubster 'shot' him, so when the Wubster threw part of his gun point-blank at Mini-Me's noggin, I giggled at the resounding thud and look of shocked dismay.

And then I giggled some more.

Eventually I remembered the appropriate behavior and giggle-consoled while checking to make sure Mini-Me was okay.

I also giggle-explained to the Wubster that throwing toys at his brother's head was giggle-frowned upon.

There may not be hope for me.