These Are Not My Children

Well, after a brief hiatus (darn that whole job thing for getting in the way!), I’m finally ready for another Theme Thursday blog post.  And this week’s topic is OPK—Other People’s Kids.

            And, to be honest, I almost missed this Theme Thursday too. Not because I don’t like the topic but because after years of teaching high school, I have had more than my share of drama with other people’s kids.  I loved teaching and I loved 99% of the kids I dealt with (even those I mentally called ‘loveable thugs’) but I could easily get into a crazy rant about the other 1%...and don’t even get me started on their parents!

So I decided to focus on the other people’s kids that make me happiest…my nieces and nephews.  I have 4 nieces and 2 nephews and I love them beyond reason—even though they’re always getting me in trouble.

Sure, they’re smart, good-looking, and sweet but, make no mistake, they’re trouble—at least for me.  For some reason, every time they spend the weekend with me, I end up getting angry phone calls from my brother.

It all started ten years ago, when my two oldest nieces were two and four.   I kept the girls while my brother and his wife went away for a romantic weekend. I had dozens of activities planned and afterward the four-year-old assured me that I was the “best aunt ever!” Clearly, the weekend was a screaming success.

Unfortunately, my brother didn’t agree. A fact made apparent when the call came a few days later. “Do you have any idea why my two daughters are running around waving their fists in the air yelling ‘It’s go time?’” He demanded, without even saying hello.

“I have no idea,” I replied. “But if I had to guess, I’d say that someone was mouthing off to them and they were forced to stand up for themselves.”

“It’s interesting that you say that,” he crowed triumphantly. “Because when the DAYCARE CALLED TO COMPLAIN, they mentioned that the girls first yell ‘Are you mouthing me?’ and then say ‘It’s go time!’”

Which, of course, made it a lot harder to deny. I had to admit that during our weekend reenactment of TV wrestling, I might have waved my own fist in the air and uttered the offending phrase.

“You have to be careful!” My brother insisted then. “You can’t teach them things like that!”

But, you see, these are not my children.

I love them more than anything else in the world, but I’m not Mom or Dad or even Grandma or Grandpa. I’m not supposed to teach them morals or traditional values. I’m Aunt Kimberly; my only job is to keep my purse filled with candy and gum and teach them things like “go time.”

That weekend I gave them a veritable cornucopia of valuable information. I showed them how to build a tent with blankets in the middle of the living room floor. I demonstrated the best way to roast marshmallows over a huge candle and how to make s’mores out of chocolate chip cookies. Finally I showed them how to burn off the sugar rush of four s’mores by jumping on the trampoline until we were ready to crawl over to our tent and watch movies until three in the morning.

As they’ve grown older, I’ve taught them other equally important life lessons. Like the exact amount of cookie dough they can eat before getting sick. Or how to blow bubbles that are as big as their heads--and almost immediately after that, the best way to get bubble gum out of their hair.

I’ve given them hot pink eye shadow and green lipstick—shades their parents would never approve of—just to show them how ridiculous they look in hot pink eye shadow and green lipstick.

I’ve even taught them the beautiful secret of reading between the lines and decoding “grown up speak.”  See, my personal philosophy is to never say no to them.  Not ever.  These are not my children and it’s not my job to set limits.  So I have two standard answers whenever they ask me to do something.  The simple answer is, of course, yes.  Yes, absolutely you can have chocolate cake for breakfast…or that new doll…or those amazingly tacky zebra stripe boots I bought and only wore once.  Yes, whatever you want my darlings.

But—all evidence to the contrary—I’m not a complete idiot.  Even cool Aunt Kimberly isn’t going to let an eleven year old go bungee jumping at some unlicensed carnival or let a thirteen year old go to a midnight concert in downtown St. Louis by herself.  And that’s when I pull out standard answer number two: Ask your dad.  If he says it’s ok with him, it’s ok with me.

The youngest one figured it out over Christmas break.   I don’t remember exactly what she asked me but it was something crazy, something like if I thought she could dye her hair purple—her favorite color.

“Ask your dad,” I told her.  “If it’s ok with him, then-“
            “That means no,” she said.

Bingo! Lesson learned.

My brother, I’m sure, is irritated by the way I make him be the heavy, make him take all the blame.  And he’d probably be horrified if he knew all the details of our weekends together. After all, he’s the parent not the “best aunt ever!” He’s supposed to make the girls eat their vegetables and go to bed at a reasonable hour.  He has to guide them through life and turn them into responsible, productive, happy, moral members of society. 

 I’m just the aunt and my job is much easier. I get to teach them fun things like how to fill water balloons and do magic tricks.

And, of course, how to deal with someone who’s mouthing them.


For other Theme Thursday posts, click the link below:

The Second Worst Date Ever

So today I want to talk about a little journey from my single days that I like to call “The Second-Worst Date Ever.”  Second, not first—my friend, Kelly, still holds claim to the worst date ever because of the time she got stuck out in the woods with some creepy guy named Dallas who kept asking her things like “Does it scare you that you don’t know where we are?  Are you scared?  Are you?”  over and over.

However, although Kelly’s horrible date would make a fabulous pre-sentencing report or Lifetime TV special, it is not chock full of the same valuable life lessons as my evening.  For those of you who are still single you might want to take a few notes as you may have inadvertently made a few of these etiquette faux pas.  Married folks, do not despair, I think many of the rules below apply to a myriad of social situations.

1.               Do NOT show up twenty minutes late then order a Jack and Coke before saying hello.

2.               Do NOT, in the first fifteen minutes of conversation, volunteer the information that your FATHER uses TAMPONS in his rectum when his hemorrhoids get especially bad.  (No, I don’t completely remember what led to this comment but that isn’t really the point since THERE IS NO APPROPRIATE TIME TO SEGUE INTO A TAMPON UP THE BUTT DISCUSSION).

3.                Do NOT curse like a sailor in front of your date for the entire evening, dropping no less than 30 f-bombs but apologize to the waitress for cursing in front of her once.

4.               Do initiate conversations about mutual acquaintances but do NOT ask questions like “Was she the one with the big…?” and make cupping gestures in front of your chest.  Definitely do NOT follow this up with the information that you are an expert at picking out fake boobs while nodding your head meaningfully at one of the waitresses.

5.               Do NOT comment that you hope computers don’t completely replace sex any time soon since that could cause you to lose all muscle tone in your right arm.  (Masturbation references are the type of thing that should probably be saved for a second or third date).

6.               Do discuss your family in pleasant and loving terms but do NOT mention that your aunt, who can speak five languages, taught you some phrase that you don’t know the meaning of but she promises will get you immediately laid in Holland.  Some of us, you see, are uncomfortable discussing our sex lives with close family members, much less learning great pick up lines.

7.               Do NOT wonder out loud why, if alien life forms are supposed to be so advanced, they can only examine the human body with an anal probe.

If you do, for some unknown and intensely personal reason, feel compelled to share your anal probe observations, make them quick and DO NOT follow your fascinating insights up with loud shouts of “Why you gotta shove a cattle prod in my a**?”  while waving your hands in the air, pretending to fight off the aforementioned anal-probing aliens.

If, again, you feel compelled to share your observations and yell cattle prod comments, try with all your might NOT to finish this little skit with a thoughtful discussion of how you’ll beat the crap out of any aliens who attempt to probe your a**.

The problem with these actions, people, is that when combined with #2 on this list, they have a tendency to convince your already horrified date that you have some sort of strange anal fixation.

8.               Do offer to buy your date a drink but do NOT wait until your THIRD Jack and Coke to mention that you are really cutting back on the drinking because of ALCOHOL-INDUCED HERNIATED ULCER THAT IS EATING THROUGH YOUR ESOPHAGUS!!

NOTE:  Yes, I stuck around long enough for him to have 3 drinks, but really only to get more material for the blog I knew I’d be writing…he pretty much lost any chance he had with me after the tampon comment…it’s like Jerry Maguire in Bizarro World “You lost me at tampon…”

9.               Do NOT steal straws from the bar and mention how you are going to cut them in half and sell them to the coke-heads in the bar where you work for a dollar a straw.

10.            Do ask your date questions about her life but when she mentions that she has had plastic surgery to rebuild her nose because of a recent struggle with skin cancer, do NOT ask if she has any feeling left in her nose then joke “Cool, so I could punch you in the f**ing nose and you wouldn’t even feel it.”

That’s not even considered funny in the polygamy cult down in Texas.

But, if you forget all of this…if, in fact, you only remember one little piece of advice from this list, PLEASE remember this. 

11.            Do NOT EVER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES AT ANY TIME, try to recover from the plastic surgery joke by saying (and I quote!) “The only plastic surgery I want is BOTOX for my BALLS…you know to eliminate the wrinkles.  I want them smooth like eggs.”

This, to be honest, not only guaranteed that I’ll never think of testicles in the same way but also kind of put me off eggs…

Happy Valentine's Gay

**This post originally appeared in 2013 as part of  a challenge to write about your "Most Memorable Valentine's Day"**

Since Opie and I have only been married a year and a half people are probably expecting me to write sort of a sappy, emotional tribute to the ultimate fabulosity of our lives together.  But sappy emotional tributes aren’t my style (unless, sadly, I’m writing about Peek-A-Boo, The Amazing Miracle Dog) and, besides, if I wrote that kind of public post about Opie, he’d break out in a rash…

So, instead, "The most memorable Valentine's Day I had was when I had the WORST VALENTINE’S DAY DATE EVER."

It was about 4 years ago; I had just gotten out of a bad relationship and I hadn’t reconnected with Opie yet.  I was a little down and crabbing about how it sucks to be alone on Valentine’s Day.

Then I learned what sucks worse: Having a so-called friend set you up on a date on Valentine’s Day with a gay guy.

I’m trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, like maybe she didn’t KNOW he was gay…but that would mean that she’d never spent more than five minutes in his presence…and I don’t know which bothers me more: that she set me up with a gay guy or that that she set me up with a complete stranger.

For the record, he didn’t actually come out and SAY that he was gay…but he was.

And for those of you who are horrified at my lack of political correctness, for my cruel pre-judgmental outing, please note that my friend Eric has already lectured me on my blatant breach of the liberal code.  He has reminded me that sexuality is a deeply personal issue and one of the few things in life that a person is allowed to self-identify. 

And then, after I told him the following story, he said “Yahhhhh, that guy’s gay.”

First of all, he was more feminine than I am—and I consider myself a fairly girly girl.  Second, he couldn’t keep his eyes off our waiter.   I’m not exactly Sherlock Holmes but when one man blatantly and continuously checks out another man’s perky behind, I suspect more than a passing interest. 

Which, in itself, isn’t definitive.  But then he turned every conversation into an oblique reference to the “desperately immoral lifestyle” he had previously been involved in.

Like I asked him how he knew my friend Sarah (who arranged this travesty of an evening) and he said he met her when he joined the same church she’s a member of.  “It saved me,” he said.  “I had immersed myself in a desperately immoral lifestyle.” And then he nodded meaningfully and took another peek at our waiter’s butt.

I decided not to pursue that and instead changed the subject and asked about hobbies.  At which point I learned that he has taken up running because he had to quit his gym after giving up his “desperately immoral lifestyle.”

And so on.  After about the tenth reference to this lifestyle, it was pretty obvious he wanted me to ask what it had been.

So, I sighed and asked “Drugs?”

“Worse!” He said.

“Murder?”  I suggested.  “Paid assassin?”

And then, like he was in some horrible over-stereotyped movie, he put his fingers in front of his mouth and tee-heed daintily.

It was one of the most bizarre things I’ve ever been forced to witness.

“Not that bad,” he giggled. “But close.”

Which I thought was incredibly sad—I mean, come on!  If you’re gay and your top ten list of evils in the world goes:

1.   Murder

2.  Homosexuality

I think you have some pretty deep-seated emotional issues. 

But I also think you shouldn’t be dating WOMEN.

Anyway, he looked at me eagerly, waiting for me to ask more.

And you know what?

I didn’t do it.

Instead I smiled and said “Good for you for getting out of it, whatever it was.” Then I told him I had to go.

Because Eric is right, sexuality IS a deeply personal issue and not one you should discuss on a first date.

Rock of Love Killed This Reality Star

Well, it’s Friday and that means it’s time for one of my favorite blog hop/link ups  from the ladies atJanine's Confessions of a Mommyaholic and “Can I Get Another Bottle of Whine with My Morning Quiet Time?” ,  Finish The Sentence Friday. They give the sentence and you can finish it however you want. Today's sentence is : "When it comes to reality TV, I…”

And, that’s easy.

When it comes to Reality TV, I am obsessed…I’ve actually written a whole other post on it called Reality For Me.  And,I know that I should be embarrassed by this because I am, after all, an English teacher…

However, I used to actually use that horrible Flavor of Love show as a motivational tool.  I was running a program for what we called “at-risk” kids from inner city St.Louis and I made a deal with them that if we got through the entire English lesson with minimal disruption, we would spend the last five minutes of class analyzing the latest episode and predicting who would go home.

Which was a little challenging to explain to my strait-laced evaluator—particularly considering the chart I had written on the back board with names like Hottie, Toastee, Buck Wild etc.

But you know what?

It worked.

And Flavor of Love was nowhere near as bad as Rock of Love…which I’m horrified to admit I also watched.  In my defense, I had a HUGE celebrity crush on Bret Michaels in high school and if I had know they were casting for a show in which I might actually get a chance to kiss him, I would have hitchhiked through Deliverance country to try out.

Wait, that’s not a defense AT ALL…that’s equally awful, if not worse.

The only good thing about the show is that it definitely cured me of any desire to be ON Reality TV because I am a crazy competitive person.  And  I think I can say with 100% certainty that there is no way I ever would have won.  I just couldn’t have come up with the following conversational gems that I remember even all these years later:

I’m everything I think a guy would want…I’m a little bit not too smart

Choking someone is…well, that’s bad.

Some people are born smart, some have to use their looks to get what they want…I’ve kind of gone that route…

I don’t know if Bret has ever been touched by the goddess but it’s time.

I also remember that there was some chick with freakishly large breasts who explained that she got her boobs done after she went to jail for putting graffiti on buildings…she figured she would be too scared to climb up and possibly fall if she had huge boobs. Please note that PRISON didn’t scare her but she thought a boob job might. After sharing this little nugget of wisdom, she sang a rap to Bret…that she had written out on the back of a genital herpes pamphlet.

 

I have a feeling that, if I had been on this show, I would have irritated that girl NO END.  And eventually she would have pulled out a shiv and shanked me in the fresh (I’m not going to lie, I’ve been watching a little too much Lock-Up lately).

 

Anyway, I no longer have any plans to be on Reality TV and I’m kind of over the VH1 dating shows.  I don't know if I'm getting older and more sensitive or if the shows are getting meaner but too many of them seem to look for emotionally damaged people to put on the air.  However, I still like Top Chef, Restaurant Impossible, Survivor, Chopped--pretty much any food challenge show...and if that means I have to turn in my English Teacher card, I guess I’ll just have to live with it.

 

For other reflections on Reality TV, check the link below:

Blogging

Today’s Theme Thursday theme is blogging and I’m cheating a tiny bit and combining 2 topics in one…blogging overall and my first blogging award.

See, I’m kind of new to this blogging scene. My page says that I started in 2009 but that’s not really true. I set up the blog in 2009 but I really just started lurking around the blogosphere then. I didn’t tell anyone about my blog, I rarely posted anything, instead I peppered my friends and family with emails that should have been blog entries. Then, in 2012, I started writing more, interacting more, and reaching out to other bloggers—who have taught me more in 4 months than I had learned in the past 4 years. One of those is Jenn from Something Clever 2.0 who hosts Theme Thursday and who recently awarded me my first blog award.

That award is The Liebster Award.

The Details: The Liesbster award is given to new or up and coming bloggers who have less than 200 followers. The award is then passed along to other bloggers in the same category to help spread the word and support each other.  Here are the rules:

1. Each blogger should post 11 random facts about themselves.
2. Answer the questions the tagger has set for you, then create 11 new questions for the bloggers you pass the award to.
3. Choose 11 new bloggers (with less than 200 followers) to pass the award to and link them in your post.
4. Go to their page and tell them about the award.
5. No tag backs.

11 Random Facts:

1. I have a weird thing about eyeballs…I’m like Rachel in Friends, I freak out when I go to the eye doctor…I can’t even put drops in my own eyes. About 10 years ago, I had a really disgusting case of Pink Eye and every night I had to drive over to my parents’ house and have my mom put the drops in…which is embarrassing enough but I needed those drops twice a day. So, in the mornings, I had to have the English department secretary do it. This is slightly mitigated by the fact that the secretary in question was also my godmother, but still EMBARRASSING.

2. I also have a weird thing about germs…double-dipping, sharing the same glass, other people touching my food—ICK!

3. In spite of 1 & 2, I always thought I was easy-going. Then, Opie and I started dating and he mentioned that I seemed to get unreasonably upset about things. It was my only complaint about him, “He doesn’t think I’m easy-going!” I told a few people. It took my priest to set me straight and let me know that, apparently, no one really thinks I’m easy-going. “You should have asked me,” he said cheerfully. “I would have told you, you’ve got lots of great qualities but easy-going isn’t one of them.”

4. Speaking of Opie, we actually met in college. We even went out one time and he wanted to go out again but I was still deep in my “philanthropic dating” phase and wasn’t at all interested in someone nice and emotionally stable. I mean, wake up every morning secure in my relationship, knowing that I am loved? Dullsville!

5. I was a cranberry in my grade school Thanksgiving play…which was enough to convince me I didn’t have a huge future in acting.

6. I’ve been to the Oval Office. One of my mom’s best friends is married to a Secret Serviceman; when I was about 7 we went to visit them in Washington DC. Frank took us all over the city, showing us the sights…and, because little kids have strange priorities, what I thought was cool then was the fact that we didn’t have to wait in line anywhere, we just got to walk in with Frank. What I think is cool now is the fact that, since the president was out of the country, we got to go see The Oval Office.

7. I’ve set a Guiness World Record…most people dressed as Superman at the same time. Long story…suffice it to say my friend Eric and I go on strange vacations every year and once we went to the Annual Superman Convention in Metropolis, Illinois. It was hysterical…you can read about it here.

8. I went skydiving on a dare…this was back when I was young and single and a little crazier than I am today. It was fun but so scary that I bit through my bottom lip on the way down.

9. I love to cook but I hate to measure. This has caused some notable catastrophes (the first time I made milk gravy for Opie, it was basically a ‘meat flan.’ He was kind enough to eat it anyway, chunks and all). It’s also led to some delicious desserts…but, with the whole ‘no measuring’ thing, my creations rarely turn out the same way twice.

10. I have an interest in amateur ghost hunting…on those vacations with Eric that I mentioned above, we’ve gone to several haunted houses. Some of those (like The Lizzie Borden House) were fairly uneventful. Some, like The Villisca, Iowa Axe Murder House, scared the pants off me.

11. If there were one talent I wish I had, it would be singing…I love to sing but I only sound good in my car, when I’m alone. When someone else gets in, it messes up the acoustics and suddenly I sound like a cat being run over.

Jen’s 11 Questions For Me:

1. What is your pet peeve? Oh, geez, this list is embarrassingly long (see what I mean about not being laid back?) It drives me crazy when people honk at me in traffic (even though I know I'm not a great driver), when people cut in line, when people are deliberately rude, when they talk in church, when they talk on the phone in loud voices in public places....

2. If you had to have the same breakfast, lunch, dinner, snack, dessert, alcoholic beverage and non-alcoholic beverage every day for the rest of your life, what would they be? (Calories don’t count.): This was actually easy, as long as the calories don’t count

Breakfast: Krispy Kreme Doughnuts and a glass of milk—specifically, Krispy Kreme original with chocolate frosting and sprinkles. My husband makes a face whenever I say this because he thinks they’re too sweet. I say there’s no such thing.

Lunch: Homemade Pizza, cheese.

Dinner: Fettucini Alfredo with extra Parmesan cheese and garlic bread…and maybe a salad so I can pretend it’s nutritious.

Snack: Popcorn with lots of butter and salt

Dessert: My mom’s homemade English Toffee. She only makes it around Christmas time and that’s probably lucky since I throw that stuff down like there’s no tomorrow…In fact, I’m pretty sure the secret ingredient is black tar heroin.

Alcoholic Beverage: Merlot in copious amounts.

Non-Alcoholic Beverage: Diet Coke

3. If you had to be an animal, what would you be? Bird…I want to fly!!

4. What’s your favorite book? These I have to categorize because there’s far too many of them: Favorite Childhood Book: Peter Pan. Favorite Mystery: Hot Money by Dick Francis Favorite Fantasy: Wolf King by Bridget Woods Favorite American Classic: To Kill A Mockingbird Favorite English Classic: Beowulf…I could go on and on.

5. What is the weirdest food you’ve ever tried? Not too many weird foods in my life, I’m boring with my food choices…I had calamari once – YUCK. It was like eating a giant rubber band.

6. What did you do as a kid, that your kid(s) better not try? I have to plead the fifth on this one because my nieces read my blog and I already get in enough trouble for filling their heads with questionable content…(Side note to Haley and Abby—I was a CONSTANT DELIGHT to Grandma and Grandpa…boys are icky, parties are boring, you should stay home on the weekends and study).

7. Who is your favorite superhero? When I was a kid, I totally wanted to be Wonder Woman…that’s me in my Wonder Woman pjs one Christmas…I also had Wonder Woman underoos but I’m obviously not posting pictures of me wearing THAT. As I got older, I became a fan of Phoenix from X-Men because she’s got awesome super powers…but there’s no way I’d pick Cyclops over Wolverine.

8. Without Googling, name one of your congressmen. I sent one of our senators, Tom Colburn, an email just last week about the new gun control legislation…since this is Oklahoma (aka Gunville) I feel my opnions might have fallen on deaf ears

9. What color are your fingernails and toenails right now? Bright red…they’re almost always bright red. In fact, when Opie and I got married a year and a half ago, my manicurist was practically in a state of despair because I refused to go with the traditional French manicure and instead insisted on my signature red…I had to so they’d match my shoes.

10. Where would you like to live, assuming money is no object and you could bring everyone you love with you? Honestly, since right now I live so far from most of the people I love (except Opie, of course!), I can’t pick a specific place…all I want right now is to live near everyone I love…someday…

11. What was the last concert you went to? Before I left St. Louis, I went to see my friend Chris Wilson play saxophone with his band The In? He’s with Fat Pocket now and if you’re in the St. Louis area, you should check them out here.

My 11 Questions – and remember, I was an English teacher for YEARS so “and please explain why” should be implied

1. What household chore do you hate the most?
2. What was the last movie, TV show or book that made you cry or tear up?
3. What’s the best/worst gift you’ve ever given/received?
4. What do you miss most about being a kid?
5. What story does your family always tell about you?
6. At what age did you consider yourself an adult?
7. What’s one thing you wish you could “un-know”?
8. Where would you like to go on a deam vacation?
9. What is your first memory of being really excited?
10. What was the first thing you bought with your own money?
11. What was the last experience that made you a stronger person?


And now for the hard part, picking 11 other bloggers. Not because I don’t follow and/or admire other bloggers but because—as I mentioned above—I’m one of the newest bloggers I know! Plus, I can’t always figure out how many followers people have…if I nominated you and you have over 200 followers—or you’ve already been nominated and I missed it—sorry! Here goes:

Mommy Unmuted
Mom With Her Running Shoes On
Cloudy With A Chance of Wine
This is Mommyhood
Kissing The Frog
Seriously Kate
You Know It Happens At Your House Too
Snarkfest
Rachael’s Insane Rants and Bizarre Musings
Twins Happen
Chi Town Mommy Mayhem



Check out the blogs above and check out other (probably more on topic!) posts at:

A Rose By Any Other Name

It’s Finish The Sentence Friday…well, to be honest, that was yesterday but I’ve been moving a little slowly this week—I haven’t even done the post for the award I got—so let’s just pretend I got finished on time (and be glad the link is still open!).  In any case, this week’s sentence is “When I was younger, I tried…”

Here’s my contribution:

When I was younger, I tried to get everyone to call me Kimberly instead of Kim…but I wasn’t assertive enough until I was much older.

Which most people probably think is silly…Kimberly, Kim what’s the difference? 

And that’s kind of a long story…a story that started when I was 5 years old and desperately wanted a cat. Unfortunately, the fact that I—and my whole family—are all wildly allergic to cat fur created an insurmountable hurdle.  I was devastated…and my grandmother decided to console me with the book One Kitten For Kim.  Except she clearly didn’t look at the book very closely:

 Notice anything odd about Kim? Anything that might upset a 5 year old Kim who desperately wanted a kitten?

Like the fact that the Kim in the book IS A BOY??!!

Which was a crushing blow to my self-identity….a boy’s name.  I had a BOY’S NAME.  Clearly, I was doomed to a life of androgyny and social exile.

Then, to make matters worse, I made one of the classic blunders: I confided in my brothers.

Now don’t get me wrong, my two brothers are good people.   They’re kind, compassionate, supportive…

At least they are NOW.

But at the time they were kids.  And BOY kids at that.  So when I said, in near hysteria, “Mom and Dad gave me a BOY’S name!”  They very helpfully explained that this was because when I was born Mom and Dad had really wanted a boy.

“Who’d want a girl?”  One of them asked.

“No one!”  The other affirmed.

(It is interesting to note that both of my brothers now maintain that this event never took place and turn the conversation to the time I told the younger one that we had found him under a bridge living with trolls…was everyone this mean to their siblings or were we just warped?)

Anyway, this revelation was enough to push me over into full blown hysterics.  I ran sobbing to my mom and started screaming about my boy’s name and how they didn’t want me and so on.

I think it goes without saying that I was a little high strung.

Luckily, my mom had one of those perfect parenting moments.  “I don’t know why you’re so upset,” she said.  “Your name is Kimberly not Kim.”

The fact that no one really called me Kimberly occurred to me but was just a new target for my obsessive personality.  It became a personal mission to get people to start calling me Kimberly instead.

It took 13 years.

Because when I was younger, I wasn’t that assertive.  I was a little too worried about people liking me, a little too worried about offending other people…so, I’d say “You know, I really prefer Kimberly but you know, whatever.”

It wasn’t until college that I got pushy about it, insisting on Kimberly instead of Kim.  And it worked.   Which was just fuel to the crazy fire...By the time I graduated and joined “the real world” I was flat out obnoxious about it, correcting people, pretending not to hear when I was hit with a “drive by Kimming”

A little over the top, I know.  But I couldn’t help it because, after all, Kim is a boy’s name.

 

For other childhood stories, click the link below:

 

The Bait and Switch

It’s Finish The Sentence Friday again (see link at the bottom of the page) and this week’s sentence is  “The last time I went on vacation…”

But I’m cheating a tiny bit and adding a couple of explanatory phrases before I start my story “The last time I went on vacation with my entire immediate family AND my husband BEFORE we were married, things were a hilarious disaster.”

See, even though we’re all grown up and out on our own, my 2 brothers , their families, and I all go on an annual vacation with my parents.  The year in question, 2010,  Opie and I had been dating awhile, things were getting serious but we weren’t yet engaged.  Still, my parents liked him and decided to invite him along.

And who wouldn’t say yes to a free vacation—particularly since we were going to Jamaica?!  He made immediate arrangements to take off work for a week and a half and come with us.

What he didn’t realize was that this was a total bait and switch vacation.

We offered him Jamaica…but if you remember watching the news in 2010, you might remember a little story that started with the line “Over 40 Dead In The Streets of Kingston!”

And the thing about drug wars is that they really put the kibosh on my family’s vacation plans…my parents are unreasonably sensitive about taking their children and especially their grandchildren to a place where drug dealers are stalking each other in the streets.

Cowards.

So, where did we end up?

The Wisconsin Dells.

We offered Opie a fabulous trip to Jamaica and ended up in The Wisconsin Dells.

It’s a miracle he didn’t sue us for fraud.

And now let me turn my attention to our no-star accommodations.  My parents had asked friends and family about a good place to stay—unfortunately, the recommended place was booked solid.  So, they decided to get a place on the same street.  Thinking that it would be of similar quality.

It wasn’t.

This was the view from my room:

 

 

 

Which probably doesn’t seem that bad until you take a closer look and realize that yes, there is a dirty disgusting mattress leaning against the shed just a few feet from the playground.

There isn’t enough ewwww to express how gross that was.   A situation not helped by the fact that when my dad asked the front desk for an ice bucket, they gave him a small plastic bag.  And when my mom let the custodial staff know that the trash in her room was still full of junk from the previous guest, the guy actually said “There’s a dumpster out back,” like she was making an unreasonable request.

If you know my mom at all, you know she DID NOT haul the leftover trash out…and I’m pretty sure she made the guy cry.

But my family didn’t care that we weren’t in the place we had really wanted to be, we just cared that we were all together…we had a great time.  We went to waterparks, we went to amusement parks, we went out to eat…we even did the cheesy “everyone dresses in personalized matching t-shirts for a day” thing.

Don’t hate—I buy the t-shirts every year and the whole point is that it’s cheesy and kitsch and completely unlike anything any of us would wear in our real lives.

Then my parents decided to up the ante and convinced us we should have one of those Old Time Photos taken…you know, one where we all dress up in period costumes and pose in an appropriate background.

But my mom took me aside and awkwardly suggested that, since Opie and I weren’t married or even engaged yet that, maybe, you know….

“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “He knows it’s a family picture.  He’s not going to feel left out if he’s not included.”

And all would have been fine…except no one explained this to my 5 year old nephew.

While we were all bustling around the shop, he tugged on Opie’s sleeve and asked “Why aren’t you in the picture?”

And, because Opie had next to no experience with children, he decided the best course of action would be to just ignore the comment and go about his business.

Which, as anyone who has dealt with a 5 year old knows, only convinces the kid you are either a little stupid or a little deaf.  Seth tugged harder on his arm and shouted each word as a separate sentence “WHY. AREN’T. YOU. IN. THE. PICTURE?!”

And Opie fumbled around, mumbling about how it was a family picture, and he wasn’t family, and it wasn’t a big deal, he wasn’t upset.

But Seth waved that nonsense off…after all, he had already seen right to the heart of the matter and wanted to make sure that he cleared things up for poor, slow, Opie.  “If you would MARRY Aunt Kimberly,” he said.  “You could be in the picture!”

Then, when Opie—a little wild around the eyes—related the story to my brother and I, my brother patted him on the shoulder and said sweetly, “It’s so easy, a five year old figured it out.”

Which is when I kind of wished I was related to other people…because these are the kind of things that happen when you vacation with my family!

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