I must reiterate that I have absolutely no intention of living less than fifty more years in this blessed family. I am not suicidal in any way, just compulsive and controlling. And you, my dear, are the brunt of that. Bu-hummer for you.
All this talk about you has got me to thinking, it's really good we don't believe in polygamy. Don't you agree? I'm pretty catty as it is, but can you imagine if you lived with me? The truth is, I'm looking at things from this earth's perspective and it's difficult to conceive of anyone else doing my jobs, in my home. But when I think of heaven, sitting there with Jesus, I really don't care what you do. I don't want to get carried away or anything, but I'm almost ready to give you that cookbook.
This week, I have taken it upon myself to honestly and sacrificially warn you of a few things around here...
- The Little Man has an issue with boogers. It's absolutely disgusting. He picks his nose and stares at the treasures. Little green crusty dragons. If you tell him to stop picking his nose, he will only deepen the dig, especially if you are in public. Better to just hand him a tissue and ask him to put the booger in there, wipe his hands off, and allow him to keep the tissue so he can examine it from there. If this scares you away, and you have yet to pledge your undying
lovecommitment to Real Gil, it's still not too late to ditch the whole marriage idea and make a run for it.
- Sugs is an absolute terror from five o'clock p.m. until six-thirty, when she gets her second wind and starts stacking pillows for diving competitions off the couch. Bedtime usually means you demand she get in the bed and she jumps off the foot board onto her pillow, where she promptly falls into an exhausted sleep. Oh, and she doesn't sleep in pajamas. At least not while there are clean leotards and swimsuits to don.
- Punkin' loves to try anything new - any food, any diving board, any intimidating book. But she also likes security in her old favorites, like strawberry crepes, Ramona Quimby, her pink bathrobe, and whipped cream. Now, on the crepes, you are in luck because I am actually sharing that recipe with my blog readers this week which means you are receiving an indirect bonus recipe straight from Yours Truly. You are welcome. Whatever you do, do not spray whip cream directly into Punkin's mouth. That is unsanitary and gross, and I would never.
- Some of these children have no inhibitions and others can hardly speak in public. I would divulge the identities of these particular children except that they often trade personalities. Just the other day, the timid one piped up rather loudly at the public swimming pool by saying, "Hey Mama, those girls must not be Christians." This perceptive mother knew what was coming and shushed her quickly, trying to distract her with a challenge to blow bubbles under the water. She saw through my ploy and proceeded loudly, "They're wearing zucchinis." Now, I have tried to explain to her that Christian women can wear different things depending on their own convictions (Romans 14), but she obviously didn't catch that part. If you want to score any points with Sugs, buy yourself a good one-piece. Or better yet, if you're really skinny, an Amish swimsuit.
- Family get-togethers are loud, chaotic, and must be approached with reckless abandon and humility. Take Easter at the first wives' family home yesterday, for instance. Roaring winds, screaming kids, one hunting dog who loves plastic-wrapped candy, one great-grandmother who can't hear over all the noise and one great-great grandmother who wishes she had the same problem, a few health-conscious eaters fighting the good fight in the face of dear mother's amazing, sweet concoctions, and two-minute intervals of sitting down and visiting before the next interruption trips their way down the hall. Before you start thinking you're off the hook on this one considering it was my family and I'm now deceased, let me burst that bubble real quick - Real Gil's family and mine celebrate together on holidays. So, you're stuck. But you are welcome to invite your family over too. Just tell them to come prepared, no matter which house you go to, even if it's at your house. Strange things happen at those family dinners - squirrels chew through car wiring, folks pray to Jesus and then sing the Hokie Pokie, library volunteers drop by with lots of large print books, tantrums land kicked-off underwear in the bowl of mashed potatoes (oh yes, they did, Mr. Nathan Glover.), impromptu sumo wrestling demonstrations commence (complete with the uniform), and all while the Travel Channel tempts you from the muted TV. [Did you know that Sicily is the largest island in the Mediterranean Sea, and it's beautiful in high-definition? Right around 4:30 yesterday, I was ready to book a flight.] The beautiful thing about family is that I wouldn't trade one moment of it (except maybe for Sicily). That's because it's family. Their chaos is mine, and my chaos is theirs. Well, maybe that's stretching the truth. My chaos? Our chaos? I'm just praying that our chaos doesn't drive them crazy. Or to the travel agent for one-way flights to Sicily. The good news for you is that this family is one loyal bunch. Although that might really be bad for you in the beginning, it'll get you far once they defrost a bit. Until then, come hungry, look out for the hunting dog, and smile for the camera.