My mom laughed at me when I was 5 years old, and I've never forgotten it.

Of course, I look back on the memory — falling on my tush in the shower — with a chuckle. But at the time, I was emphatic about the danger I had been in. It was not funny, I told her, stamping my foot. I think I even shed a few dramatic tears.

My 16-month-old son, Brody, is not old enough to care when I laugh at him. In fact, he delights in the fact that he can make me giggle. That's led to a few bad habits, and the fact that Duane and I are a jovial couple doesn't make hiding our amusement any easier.

Most recently, our growling little boy has picked up a practice passed down from generations of Paitsel men — punching the inanimate object he ran into. The Paitsel clan is a clumsy brood, but we're not sure, yet, whether Brody gets his grace from his father or mother. In any case, he sure does run into things a lot.

At first, Duane and I shared secret smiles when Brody would slap a wall or door with his open palm after bumping his head. The smiles turned into laughter when he started returning to the site of injury, balling up his fist and giving a loud grunt as he punched the offender. The routine gained hilarity when he began practicing it on rakes, chairs, toys — anything that bonked, bumped or pinched him.

Now, my little guy will run from room to room, grunting a loud "rraaahhh" and handing out quick and accurate punches to every inanimate object that stands in his way — sometimes taking a detour for a "boo boo" kiss first. He even gave my leg a growl when I accidentally stepped backward and ran into him.

But when he's not bumping his head, tripping over his feet or being manhandled by the furniture around him, Brody is full of hugs and kisses. He'll willingly blow a kiss to anyone he meets, and he's getting much better about petting the dog "nicely." That just makes his frustrated outbursts even funnier.

It's equally as funny when our sometimes tantrum-throwing son sits himself on his bright red Naughty Mat. The toddler version of a time-out, Brody knows he must sit on the mat situated in the corner of our living room until he's finished crying. But Duane and I have to stifle a laugh when our sniffling boy waddles to the mat, sits down and juts his chin out.

Not all of our household hilarity is at the expense of my son's frustration, though.