Wednesday, May 2, 2012


Somehow my mother and father convinced me to come to their house for not one, not two, but THREE meals yesterday! Breakfast, lunch AND dinner!

My sister and her gorgeous daughter sprung for three pizzas (we like our pizza here in WV - it's like a four-course meal if you can get enough toppings for free on it!) so we gorged ourselves and then sat around digesting, waiting for the kids to either get in a fight or dissolve into hysterics of some sort or another.

My mother had the bright idea to turn on the stereo and blast her favorite Alan Jackson song "Chatahoochie" to which both Harry4 and Gillian started flashmob dancing! Not wanting to miss the action, my dear sister reached out and snatched the closest kiddo she could find. As her tiny chicken-pickin- fingers ensconced my son's middle, he looked at me in fear, which my sister, thinking he was wriggling with happiness at having being impaled by her rat claws, started bouncing around to the music, my helpless baby clutched in her arms. She bobbed to the music, swung him to and fro with her curls bouncing, all the while sitting in one of my mother's delicate dining room chairs.


"OH MY GAWD! MY FAT ASS BROKE THE CHAIR! I BROKE THE CHAIR! I BROOOOKE IIIIIT!" she screamed and finally let loose of my poor child who ran to me, sweaty but happy to be free.

Summer held up the wrangled piece of furniture as we all held our stomachs and laughed at her expense, trying desperately not to regurgitate the stuffed crust pizza we just stuffed into ourselves.

"I can't believe I broke the chair!" Summer said again.

"Finally!" I yelled. "Finally! Don't you remember when I was sitting in the bathtub, painting the wall and it DROPPED! I got out screaming 'MY FAT ASS BROKE THE TUB! MY FAT. ASS. BROKE. THE TUUUUUB!'???"

"Oh yeah," she said.

We all quietly reflected on the girth of our backsides while we wiped the tears from our reddened, hot faces.

"If I broke that chair, your mom would've killed me," my dad said and started laughing all over again.

"Shut up, Ben," Mom said, swatting him on the arm.

Summer left shortly after that incident but I'm sure the memory, and this blog post, will haunt her for all the rest of her days.

Now - who wants pizza???


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