Archive for the “Family” Category

Some of you may already know that I bought my parents a puppy for Christmas. He is the cutest thing ever! Despite me living over 8 hours away, I have visited the puppy twice since I dropped him off in November.

I even started a photoblog about it. I update it at least every 36 hours. If you like cuteness, please bookmark The Sparky Chronicles.

Sparky, you’re so cute, I can’t stand it!

Originally posted August 2006

Me: The interview for my dream job went well, with the exception of getting a speeding ticket on the way. But I have some bad news.

Mom: This conversation is not about me. It’s… it’s a strange sensation. How do I get the conversation back to me?

OK, I’m starting to exaggerate. Must… reign… in… sarcasm!

Mom: What’s the bad news?

Me: IF I get the job, and that’s a big IF, I would need to go to Nashville for training. For six weeks.

(Hi Monica!)

Mom: Wow, it will be expensive to board Moose for six weeks.

Me: Yeah, like $1800. Which is why I’m not doing it.

Mom: Would Jennifer watch Moose?

Me: Jennifer, with the 150 pound St. Bernard of her own, and 220 pound mastiff, and a full time job, and two small children? No, I am not going to ask Jennifer to watch Moose.

Mom: (defensive) Well, your brothers can’t do it.

Me: Yes mother who is retired, has a huge fenced yard, and a huge 4 bedroom house that’s empty, I realize my BROTHERS can’t do it.

Mom: Well I’M NOT KEEPING THAT DOG FOR SIX WEEKS!

Me: Yeah, I can see how a dog sleeping in your house for six weeks would shake your life to it’s very foundations.

Mom: He drools!

Me: So do your grandchildren! At least my DOG takes a shit somewhere other than his own fucking pants!

Mom: Isn’t there any other options?

Me: I could be jobless, go into bankruptcy, move back to Kansas and you and Dad can support my ass until you die or get a restraining order against me, whichever comes first.

Mom: Well, with any luck you won’t get the job and this will be a moot point.

Gee thanks Mom. You can take care of three grandsons under 7 years old for weeks at a time, but god forbid a dog who sleeps 23 1/2 hours of every day comes to be a throw rug with paws in your house.

Can you feel the love?

Originally posted December 3rd, 2005

I lived in a suburb of Chicago from Kindergarten through fourth grade. Christmas was a big deal for us, being kids and all.

I remember one year, I must have been in second or third grade, which meant my brothers were in like Kindergarten and first grade… ANYway, that year was the year we realized my dad was cheap. How cheap was he? Real cheap. Our Christmas lights sucked.

One evening my parents decided to be nice to us kids and drive us around to look at Christmas lights. Were we delighted? NO! We were PISSED OFF!

Everyone else had pretty Christmas lights. All we had were one strand. along the gutters of the first story of the house.

UNACCEPTABLE!

Looking back, this was the mid-70’s and I’m SURE that many people had just a strand. But we didn’t see THOSE houses.

The house we saw was the one owned by an executive of the local Electric Company. It had lights covering every square inch of the house, driveway, and lawn. It was magical!

And we were pissed! Why couldn’t OUR house look like that. We began to verbally assault our father. I told him that stoplights had prettier lights than our house did! Mark began crying and getting really pissed.

We got home, and Mark began to pack. He was running away to the electric company exec’s house that had all the lights. “They obviously LIKE children at THAT house! I’m going to go live there, where they LIKE kids. Not like here!”

I became involved when I saw he was using my hideously-green-with-awful-brady-bunch-daisy-print suitcase. So Mark was throwing a temper tantrum about Dad “not liking kids, or he’d have some good lights on the house,” and I began throwing a tantrum about Mark taking MY suitcase to run away!

So mom and dad told Mark that they hoped he’d be happy with his new mom and dad at the house with all the Christmas lights. Mark hastily packed nothing but underwear and socks, and his stuffed dog. Then he took off out of the back door in his footy pajamas and his winter coat, into the cold Chicago winter’s night.

My dad waited a minute then set out to follow him, so Mark wouldn’t see he was being followed. However, there was a snag in that plan: Dad came back and said he had lost Mark’s trail!

Panicked, Mom started calling the neighbors and Dad was about to head back outside when I happened to look out the front window. Mark had never even left the property. He had circled around to the front porch and was curled up to go to sleep with his head on the suitcase, holding the stuffed dog.

And that was the end of Mark running away to the house of the people who liked kids.

Epilogue: Our Christmas lights always sucked.

My Christmas memories are, of course, laden with trauma and emotional scarring that a lifetime of therapy will not overcome. However, some mirth has managed to squeeze from the black pit of despair that has been family Christmases over the years.

One of my favorite stories is about my grandfather Paul. Of course, this happened way before I was born.

Grandpa Paul lived in Webb City, Missouri and worked in Joplin for the electric company. This was the Ozarks, and back in the 30’s (and even into the 40’s) many people in the area were too poor for electricity.

The electric company would attempt to promote electricity use by selling electrical appliances to their employees at reduced rates. Now, it was the depression and the family was not much better off than anyone else of the time. However, because of the electric company “perks”, they tended to be first on the block to have an electrical appliance. They were the first family to have an electric fan.

They were also the first family to have a string of Christmas lights. Folks around those parts had never seen Christmas lights before. The first year my grandfather hung his Christmas lights, it brought people from miles around. Since the house was right on a highway, it also caused a traffic jam on the highway. Everyone slowed down to see Paul’s beautiful Christmas lights.

It was a single string of seven bulbs.

And thus began the love/hate relationship with Christmas lights that plague the family to this very day.

Since I can remember, my mother has been saying the most annoying thing after we have a good meal. It can be Thanksgiving. It can be a restaurant. A birthday. Whatever. After the meal, my mother says, “Well, this was such a big meal! We ALL won’t have to eat again for the rest of the day!” And she means it!

If the big meal was lunch, you’re not getting dinner. You may not get breakfast the next day either. If you have a big lunch the next day, you’ll hear about it.

“Why do you kids want to eat again so soon? You just HAD that big lunch YESTERDAY!”

It’s become such a joke and she’s so predictable, that I’ve started to make fun of her openly about it.

Last time they visited, we went out to eat. I could tell mom was working up to her big “you’re never allowed to eat again” speech. I beat her to the punch and announced: “Well kids, we had a BIIIGGGG dinner today. We won’t have to eat again until SUMMER!”

You could tell I totally stole her thunder.

Funny, in nursing school I don’t remember learning that digestion takes longer the more my mother doesn’t want to cook again.