A Boring Read to All, and to All a Good Night!

So, I have never had a great memory. It's really bad and it always kinda has been. Bad, as in, if it weren't for various dry erase boards around my house, I probably would not have spoken on the phone with pretty much everyone I know over the last 10 years. However, I can usually trace it back to some reason that totally covers my ass.

Such as:

"Oooh, no, Luke I didn't make it to the cleaners today....I was watching Alex all day and couldn't get away. Parenting is hard!" *

"No, Jim, I don't exactly recall doing a River Dance with the newly purchased boot-shaped beer mugs from the St. Arnold's brewery tour.....but thank you so very much for the proof...I mean....video." **

You get the gist.

Sometimes I can use some sort of brain injury related excuse, but for people who have known me a while, the whole "I was run over by a car, you know! Cut me some slack will you?!" only goes so far.

But lately, my memory is starting to fail me in a way that is really alarming me.

I'm afraid I am starting to forget my dad.

And not just my dad, but all the looks, smells and stories that he would tell. Stories that all of us would tell and re-tell. The conversations we would have over and over and over....and later laugh about having them over and over and over. Stories that we all know the words to, but it was the way he told them, that made them as much a family heirloom as any picture or antique.

A fav is the story of when Tam almost got attacked by wild dogs at a boy scout camp out (one night outside, mind you). He always ended the story by saying that weekend was worse than going to Vietnam. He volunteered, by the way.....for Vietnam, not to be a leader at the camp out. Trust me, it makes a difference.

But also things that were just him.

Like how his collar was always popped when he put his shirt on after getting out of the pool.

How he always hummed "Roll 'Em, Roll 'Em, Roll 'Em" when we pulled out of the driveway to go on vacation...even if we were just going to the airport.

Or the blonde and gray stubble on his face even after one day of not shaving. (That is kind of an anomaly around our house. Luke stopped shaving once for 3 weeks while we were in China, and he looked only slightly more manly than the teenager that delivered our pizza the night we got back. Did I mention the kid was on a bike?)

It does feel good to know I can hold on to the way I would wear his robe when I didn't feel good. Like every little girl who wants to physically wrap themselves in the comfort and strength that their dad embodies, I would pull his huge, heavy robe on. Or that, even in adulthood, my brother and I always wore his shoes around the house in the summer. Tam looked normal. Me? I looked like a four year old wearing huge, black Crocs.

It's just that it all seems so far away now.

So far removed.

Ancient.

Over.

I am afraid that never hearing him rehash the day we found my wedding dress, the sparkle and magic of that day is going to fall flat. After pouring over lists and lists of potential Father-Daughter songs, he picked the perfect one. Later, we practiced every night on the back patio for our first dance-him whispering in my ear the steps so we wouldn't forget even though we both knew which step followed the one before it. I mean, how hard is the box-step? He even wanted to do a practice run with me wearing my shoes and my big, huge slip so he "could get used to it before the big day". That, over time, it is going to fade away like the ending of a song. Like that very same whisper.

Then again, our Father-Daughter song was "Unforgettable"......so maybe that is a good sign.

*"Watching Alex" is sometimes also known as "Watching Millionaire Matchmaker" while Alex is playing in jail.

**Wha?? I had a babysitter all weekend...and let me tell you, nothing says "I am a good mom" like drinking for 10 hours straight.

I Would Like to Thank the Academy...

Big, big news. Huge, actually.

So..... I am pretty sure I am Mom of the Year.

Surprised? Didn't think so. But, what I bet you are wondering about, is why.

Well, it's not because when random strangers walk up to us at Target and tell me he's cute, I joke that I am just waiting until he is house-broken so I can get more when I put him on Ebay.

Nor is it because I expect him to understand when I say things like: "Alex, does Mommy scream in your face when you are eating? No? Well there you go".

And it certainly isn't because I use words like "house-broken" in reference to him.

Here is why:

So, I am at Janie and Jack today buying some clothes for Alex. We are checking out and he kinda starts to have a fit. Naturally, being SuperMom I reach into the pacifier pocket in the jogging stroller while also grabbing my wallet from my purse at the same time. See? Multitasking-I am a genius. Well, imagine my surprise when I don't pull out the pacifier, but actually a wine cork. The sales lady gave me the awkward giggle that made it all the more uncomfortable.

I know what you are saying...."Jane, that isn't bad! It's not like you thought rubbing his nose in poop would help potty train him". You would be right...what makes me Mom of the Year, is what comes next. I instinctively do what any parent does...blame it on the kid. So, while the gal is giving me the stink eye, before I know it, I have the cork in my hand and say, "Alex, you know better than drink and drive." And because the universe thought it would be funny, as I say this a little hiccup escapes. Great.

I took my bag full of clothes that are cuter than a box of puppies and got the heck out of that pressure cooker.

If you need me, I'll be at The Tasting Room.

---jane

And Scene......

And this people......this.....is the essence of how hilarious my family is.

Posted this morning, by Tam:

Anonymous said...

You know what is great about those particular Aunt suggestions? Thinking about other things that could have been suggested in the same context and seemed as reasonable. Par example:
Aunt: "Oh, Jane, you know what your Mam needs to do?"
Jane: ""What? Donate some of the flowers?"
A: "No, BURN DOWN HER HOUSE FOR THE INSURANCE MONEY. I am going to go and tell her that."
Or
"No, DEDICATE HER LIFE TO GETTING ON THE PRICE IS RIGHT. I am going to go and tell her that."
Or
"No, GET A TATTOO OF JERRY'S FACE ON HER OWN FACE SO SHE SEES HIM EVERY TIME SHE LOOKS IN THE MIRROR. I am going to go and tell her that."
Or
"No, LEARN TO DRIVE A STICK SHIFT. I am going to go and tell her that."
Or
"No, TAKE PITBULLS INTO NURSING HOMES I am going to go and tell her that."

- Dear Sweet Brother

Slow clap, Tam. Slow clap.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Funeral

So, it is no secret that my family is full of characters. We are pretty much divided into two categories: those who have a sense of humor and those who don't.

Now, you may be thinking that the line is pretty clear. Not really. See, of course the ones with the astounding sense of humor are clearly hilarious. But, those who are lacking in the sarcasm department know we are funny, but laugh with the blank look in their eyes that says they know they should be laughing, but really aren't sure what part they are laughing at. Which kinda makes it funnier. Especially when we start to point it in their direction and they are a couple steps behind the joke. Good times.

So I have this aunt, one of my mam's sisters....the eldest. Man, she is a riot. And not the "ha, ha" kind. She is teeny and grey-haired and is very, very long winded. She used to travel from Chicago to visit and bring her cat. Besides the fact that my dear, sweet brother is allergic to cats (like, kinda bad), this cat hid under his bed and by the end of the trip we were all pretty much convinced that Chessy was the anti-Christ coming to kill us all and drag us to hell....right after my Aunt's smoke break.

Naturally, as the years have passed she has gotten crazier...and I mean that nicely? While driving, she is afraid to make left turns, so she won't...she will only turn right. Makes sense. It could be that she has just aged a smite bit, or her favorite cocktail she once accidentally made in the 80's, and never switched from, and the effects are starting to be seen. That would be her Vodka-Vodka. Now, now, I am not judging. Remembering the mixer is hard. We have all been there.

Once she was contacted via a World War II chat room by someone who doing a book report and wanted a personal account of her experience during the war. I can really see how she helped this young boy with her perspective, and the effect the war had on her, and how it made his project a complete success. She was 4 years old at the time of the war after all. Just to clarify, as someone who has also been 4 years old, that is a real pivotal time.....going from two naps down to one.....the social stigmas a young girl had in the 1940's playing in her shirt dresses and little leather Mary Jane's. Tough, tough stuff.

Anyway, so we are at my parent's house after my dad's service and it is packed. People shoulder to shoulder eating and talking, and of course laughing. So many flowers you had to be careful not to trip over them since we ran out of space on the shelves, counters and tables around the house.

So, I am talking with this old neighbor who I haven't spoken to in literally 15 years or so, and my Aunt sitting next to me. The couch is small and the conversation leads itself between all of us. However, in the middle of talking about this or that, my Aunt says with such confidence:

Aunt: "Oh, Jane, you know what your Mam needs to do?"

Jane: ""What? Donate some of the flowers?"

A: "No, adopt a Haitian orphan. I am going to go and tell her that."

J: "Oh, please let me be there when you do."

I can just see it now....my mam, recently widowed, roaming the house with nothing but the sound of Sophie's dog collar jingling and the Haitian orphan playing quietly on a blanket in the front room. They would become bff's and ride on the bike handlebars a la Laverne and Shirley.

I mean, this is a mere couple hours after the memorial service. People are still noshing on their eloquently catered funeral food. We haven't even made a second run to the liquor store yet. And, here is my Aunt, going to tell my mam this suggestion with an intensity that rivaled my hatred that Chic-Fil-A is closed on Sunday. (It's true. They are all bastards.) My mam is also the same one who lost a rescue dog a decade back so I can only imagine how well she would keep up with a malnourished, french speaking child that has recently been displaced due to a horrible catastrophic natural disaster.

Not to mention the logistics of this. Would it go something like:

1. Call the funeral director

2. Find Out About Life Insurance

3. Inquire about Haitian Adoption

4. Sell Dental Practice

Yeah, I can see that situation getting it's own 'Successories' poster real soon.

The House of Cards

So..... when I started to "blog" (if 30 some odd posts can even count as being a blogger) I thought it would be really fun and everyone would think I was hilarious and the end. Humor is really the only thing that I am really good at so I have honed my skills and read many leather bound books on improving my form. Humor, and well, sewing but that is only because I took clothing classes, like, four times in high school so I can sew a square pillow. But, the only thing that qualifies me for is to get hired on at a sweat shop. However, I have seen on 20/20, or something, that most sweat shops don't have air conditioning and considering I have really frizzy hair, I decided not to go that route.

Well, not so much today. I haven't posted anything in eleventy months anyway, but, I just want to go on record now, saying that nobody is going to want to read this. All (what is it, 25) of you are free to "un-follow" me cause, seriously, nobody cares about any of this except me...which is fine.

I grew up in a family that laughs all the time. So, it is really easy to have any situation and make it funny when you are around other witty people who are also hilarious. And when there is usually wine involved. My little 'stories' (i.e. what happens whilst I stand in line at Costco) translate easily because I grew up laughing. So when I would email someone (Hi, Katie) something funny, they would tell me to blog it.

But now, I don't really want to blog-I just kinda want to put something down so I can remember it while it is still fresh in my mind. And since my handwriting is about as good as Alex's, this is easier than actually writing it down.

Ah, Alex.

Maybe this is for him too. And Annie. Because I can remember but they won't be able to. And, just maybe, if they have some idea of how wonderful and fun it used to be, then they can carry it on with them. I figure if we all play our cards right, one day, they will have a machine that can convert this into the new version of the google-web, read it, and from that, they will be prepared if someone sends a Chinese Nationalist to their house for Memorial Day and know just what to say....or learn just how important a diving board is to the 4th of July......or that being brave is 'going nill' when you have the Ace of Spades in your hand.

And just where to hide the ribs.

Oh, and if you happen to make it this far, I kinda warned you. Permission to "un-follow" now granted. But, feel free to come back tomorrow.

jane

I'll Take a Double

So on the flight home from Thanksgiving, we had a little bit of technical problems. It was a real hoot. Here is what happened.

The flight is fine, we get a little snack, The Baby is playing on my lap and it is all good.

Then, we start to descend. Nothing major, but it was enough of a drop, and fast enough, that all 6 infants on the flight can't regulate their ears and start screaming.

All at the same time.

It was kinda like that Family Guy episode with the four singing Peters singing Christmas songs. Except less singing and more ear shattering screaming....and not as much harmony as parents trying (unsuccessfully) to quiet the babies in the six row radius we have all been seated in. But just like that.

So we hang out at the lower altitude for a little bit, and we see the flight attendant put her little cart away and take her seat. We then start to ascend a smidge thinking that we are going to be flying into a storm or something and the pilot was getting around it.

Not so much.

After we regain our altitude, the pilot decides to rip out the landing gear. Which, at 30,000 feet, sounds like the wing has just been ripped from the side of the plane.

I start kinda freaking out but The Husband tells me some BS about the flaps and whatever. I know he is full of it, but I appreciate the effort, so I let it go. Plus, in his head, I can see the mouse turning that all the years of watching uber nerdy airplane shows on the military channel is finally gong to pay off. And I don't want to ruin that for him. Even in a crisis, I am a giver.

So we are hanging out, the noise is unbearable and I am getting more and more, apprehensive.

Then, the pilot does an abrupt 180 and we are going the other way. It really appears that I am the only one who is even alarmed by this.

The bitchy mom three rows behind me is still cussing out her husband, who is sitting three rows ahead of her, for not being able to find her wireless card.

The couple behind me are still reciting their lines for something. (Although I think their lines should have been "No we shouldn't have gotten married, because you are actually my sibling"...yeah, they looked, um, well, off).

So I decide to call the flight attendant and find out what is going on. Her name is "Jessica" but I am pretty sure her name ends in an "i" because she just seems like the type of girl with a name that ends in "i". Like a "Brindi", or "Cami" or "Tiffani". You know who I mean. She is of no use to me, giving me some excuse of "running some tests and that is all she knows". Damn you Miffi.

Then the pilot comes on the PA and I almost totally lose it. The guy is so middle eastern that I am shocked he is actually a pilot, and not the owner of a shipping store/dry cleaners that also dabbles in air-terrorism. I could hardly understand what he was saying. Every other word sounded like "Puff-puff. Ding-ding." Yeah, I did. But it's my blog and I can racially profile if I want to.

Maybe, and this is just a suggestion, but maybe, it is a better idea to have the co-pilot, John from Utah, make the announcement that we have a failed hydraulic pump and have to make an emergency landing in Nashville to "fill out some paperwork". Huh. Just a thought.

So we land, get the pump changed and it is all good.

Except, the bitchy mom behind me immediately starts to gripe to her husband that "the kids are really,really thirsty. We didn't get anything to drink. Go get us something." I wanted to slap her and hug him.

But he ended up getting his....as did The Husband and I.....and that would be the complimentary drinks (Ah, thank you Punjab).

In the end, tough, the joke was on us. When we finally landed and I needed to go to the bathroom, it was so backed up it resembled the windshield washer bucket at the gas station and not an airplane bathroom.

So I happened to learn a few things over the Thanksgiving holiday.

Such as:

No matter how cold it is, The Baby will still overheat in a sweater. Yes, we live in Houston and we were in Ohio. No kind of cold is going to get him. Bad for his Burberry sweater, but good for all of his summer clothes that still fit.

My Mam will always find a way to bring up death and/or dying. Like when we were talking and she mentions someone who just died (because she happens to know all the people who have just died, and how to bring them up in the conversation)...and her reply is usually "Gee, Jerry, that is only 9 years older than you."

Or, half way through your flight home, it is suddenly redirected, and then makes an emergency landing, the captain decides that drinks are free from that point on.

I think we all win on that one.