Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Family
For the last day of my birthday celebration, I will share with you the greatest gift that I have ever recieved for any birthday- ever.
The gift: My family.
I was born into the typical American Family. A mom, a dad, my big brother, and then there was me.
My mom is the best, she was always at our annoying children events (gymnastics, football, ballet, whatever...) and now that we are all grown up, she allows our weirdness, and laughs at it. She is not without her quarks- but that is what makes her so amusing. We have all of these patio glasses that we drink out of on a daily basis... They are the full gammett of colors- blue, pink, yellow, clear, green, and the elusive purple. The woman loves her purple glass, and since there is only one of them- you best not be caught with your beverage in it... That is HER purple glass. Know it. Love it. It is hilarious.
My dad- oh my dad. When we were little, he was the man in charge of making lunches, cooking dinner, and getting us to and from school. You could always count on a Lunchable or a PB and J sandwich that had so much peanutbutter on it, you would choke after one bite... And for dinner, two words would send us kids running- not to the table- but out the door and into the woods... "Clay Pot." My father loved to cook in this dreaded clay pot. He would throw all kinds of shit in there and bake it for, oh, six hours... When that thing came out of the oven, it definately was not recognizable any more. But we lived, we covered it with ketchup... Lots of Ketchup.
And my brother, oh my brother. My brother is Mister Hairbrained scheme himself. Believe it or not, I am the quiet child. I am the calm one. ((gasp)) This boy has been looking for trouble since he popped out of the womb. He is the man behind so many phrases- including my childhood nickname "reccari" (all one word.) And this is also the boy whom my Uncle used as his personal bartender at the ripe young age of four. Brent would take my uncles glass and have instruction on where to fill the rum and where to fill the coke... And when he got back, he got the old breathalizer (my uncle smelled his breath) to make sure he had not taken a sip. This is also the big brother who said that if I wanted to be in his 'club' I had to crawl across the concrete on my hands and knees... Did I mention that the concrete had a plethora of broken bottles all over it? Yep. Got ten stitches from that adventure and I didn't ever rat him out until a couple of months ago. I am such a good sister.
So happy last day of my birthday celebration to me... Thank god I come from such an awesome family.
On another note- Go visit Scotty Pants's blog. I guest blogged for him and I want some damn comments! ¶ 9:54 AM
The gift: My family.
I was born into the typical American Family. A mom, a dad, my big brother, and then there was me.
My mom is the best, she was always at our annoying children events (gymnastics, football, ballet, whatever...) and now that we are all grown up, she allows our weirdness, and laughs at it. She is not without her quarks- but that is what makes her so amusing. We have all of these patio glasses that we drink out of on a daily basis... They are the full gammett of colors- blue, pink, yellow, clear, green, and the elusive purple. The woman loves her purple glass, and since there is only one of them- you best not be caught with your beverage in it... That is HER purple glass. Know it. Love it. It is hilarious.
My dad- oh my dad. When we were little, he was the man in charge of making lunches, cooking dinner, and getting us to and from school. You could always count on a Lunchable or a PB and J sandwich that had so much peanutbutter on it, you would choke after one bite... And for dinner, two words would send us kids running- not to the table- but out the door and into the woods... "Clay Pot." My father loved to cook in this dreaded clay pot. He would throw all kinds of shit in there and bake it for, oh, six hours... When that thing came out of the oven, it definately was not recognizable any more. But we lived, we covered it with ketchup... Lots of Ketchup.
And my brother, oh my brother. My brother is Mister Hairbrained scheme himself. Believe it or not, I am the quiet child. I am the calm one. ((gasp)) This boy has been looking for trouble since he popped out of the womb. He is the man behind so many phrases- including my childhood nickname "reccari" (all one word.) And this is also the boy whom my Uncle used as his personal bartender at the ripe young age of four. Brent would take my uncles glass and have instruction on where to fill the rum and where to fill the coke... And when he got back, he got the old breathalizer (my uncle smelled his breath) to make sure he had not taken a sip. This is also the big brother who said that if I wanted to be in his 'club' I had to crawl across the concrete on my hands and knees... Did I mention that the concrete had a plethora of broken bottles all over it? Yep. Got ten stitches from that adventure and I didn't ever rat him out until a couple of months ago. I am such a good sister.
So happy last day of my birthday celebration to me... Thank god I come from such an awesome family.
On another note- Go visit Scotty Pants's blog. I guest blogged for him and I want some damn comments! ¶ 9:54 AM
