Thursday, October 27, 2011

So Far, So Stressful

"You'll laugh." Say's Brat

"Don't talk to me." I glower and screw the cap on the gas tank. "I told you I needed the loo and you raced inside."

"But ..."

I cut her off and stomp into the store. Several minutes later, I return to the car and climb inside. "Okay," I laugh, "I get it now."

"Not exactly," she snickers, "I christened them both.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

I'm Taking Duct Tape ...

So that your sympathies will be with me, and not Brat, as we make our way cross country, this is a repeat of my first post.
And no, she hasn't changed.

Never leak your plans to the youngest Sib. This is cardinal rule number one. A rule I violated when I gave the kid an advance peek at my first post.

"Oh," She said, "That's hysterical, but you can't post THAT on the web. "

Well crap. I sighed, dropped my mini masterpiece into the draft column and thought what next. Then I had a vision of wild dandelion hair and glittering blue eyes.

"Stop chasing your sister."

Chase her? I was going to kill her. Sliding a furtive look at Mom, I thundered after the brat, whose chubby legs were pumping up and down as she made her escape. She was naked.

She was always naked.

So I wasn't alarmed when she sat on the small of my back to watch Boris and Natasha outsmart Bullwinkle. Still in my swim suit, sprawled on the carpet, chin in my hands, I ignored her.

Then a warm trickle hit the small of my back. Slid down my side.

What? And then it hit me, I howled and lept to my feet.

Already on the run, she shot past my mother with a feral grin.

In the hallway, I almost caught her, but there's not much to grab on a naked toddler. My fingers were inches from her hair when Dad stepped out of his office. She slammed into his legs, clinging and crying now that she had a sympathetic audience.

"Kelly Louise, go to your room."

My mouth fell open. Didn't he understand. "But, she ... she ..."

"She's a baby." He patted her back and gave me a long patient look. "You're a fifth grader. She looks up to you."

Outraged, I heaved a sigh. "But ..."

Dad's brows rose. Safe in his arms, my sister smirked.

Narrowing my eyes, I stomped to my room and slammed the door against the frame.

"Kelly Louise ..."


"The wii won't work."

"Hi Mom," I nestle the phone in the crook of my neck and take a seat, "whatever happened to hello?"

"Oh," she laughs, "Hello."

"Yeah hello yourself, so whats with the wii?"

"Nothings happening."

Great, nothing's happening and I get to troubleshoot from three thousand miles away. "Is there a disc in the machine?"

"Kelly."  Mom's voice is a bit indignant, but then I hear Brat laughing in the background and I start to snicker.


I like these shorthand conversations with family, they make me laugh, but with google, not so much. I am now anonymous. I was shy for forty years, so I don't want to be anonymous. I am sure at some point I'll find my way back from anonymity and splatter my face across the web, but first I have to drive Brat from New York to Los Angeles. So ... pray for me, or pray for Brat, or send me the address to really great diners that serve really great pie ... Sigh

Friday, October 14, 2011

Evil Intent

Mornings are meant to be enjoyed in solitude. All I need is a pot of coffee and the opportunity to glare at the wall for an hour, or two.

Rob is perfect. He stumbles out to the couch, around two or three to watch old movies, and when I make an appearance, he greets me like I'm the best thing on the planet and then nods off for a few hours. Yep perfect.

Until ...

I can't find my coffee cup.

I can never find my coffee cup and the longer I search, the harder I snick the cabinet doors. "Dammit Rob." I hiss and grumble. I know this is his fault. It's always his fault.

Sprawled on the lazy boy, he lifts his head and blinks at me.

A muscle twitches beneath my left eye. "What have you done with my cup?" I roar, and then find it perched on a precarious pile of glassware.

Instead of nestling the bowls, like God intended, Rob has stacked them, small, medium, and then large in a growing pile of imminent disaster. An oblong casserole pan tops his creation and there in the center is my prized, insulated coffee cup."Dammit Rob."

The corners of his lips twitch.

And then I get it. "Oh my Gawd," I narrow my eyes, "you do this on purpose."

He grins.

"For eight years?"

He nods and I want to poke him with a fork. "Walk the dog," I say, "and make it a long one."

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Busted Bottles and Fish Guts

"Dammit Rob." I scoop shards of glass and frozen beer out of the freezer. "Will you ever learn?"

"Yeah well," He hands me a wet rag, "at least it doesn't smell funny."

Whipping around, I slam my hands to my hips and give him the stink eye. Last year he left shark guts in the vegetable bin and by the time I got home a funky odor permeated the fridge. I grit my teeth.

He grins

I don't.

"Use your own damn refrigerator." I hiss, turning back to clean the sticky ooze.

Rob shrugs and dissappears into the garage. Several minutes later he returns, holding aloft a frosted six pack of black and tans. "Well," he says, "look what I found in my freezer."

Huh, so that's where I put them.

Monday, October 10, 2011


"What,d you do, pack your little brother in that bag?"
Gargantua slides a paw across the overhead bin and glares down at me.

I grin.

He grunts. "It'll fit."

"Maybe," I allow, "but I'll just stick around for the entertainment value."

Muscles bulging, tattoos shifting, he wrestles his bag, changing angles, swearing and finally conceding defeat. "You could help."

"No," I tilt my head from side to side, "I forgot to put UPS on speed dial."

Laughter surrounds us and he gives a frustrated grin. "Help."

"Oh okay. Get out of the aisle so the good travelers can take a seat." I weave through the crowd and then call over my shoulder. "Pull some of the crap out of your duffle and I'll bring you a silver bag."

Five minutes later Gargantua's luggage makes it's way into the bin and he struggles into his seat. "Now, isn't that comfy." I say, handing him a dum-dum sucker. He looks so harrassed, I chuckle, then realize his attention is focused on the forward cabin. I turn just as my coworker thunders down the aisle.

"I told you to check your bag sir, we do not have time ... " She breaks off as Gargantua and I widen our eyes and raise our brows.

"What bag?" I ask.

"What bag?" He echos.

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Lost Assets

"Who are you talkin to?" Asks precocious four year old Jaime as she clings to my knee.

"Winnie the Pooh." I tell her.

"Oh." She breaths. " Can I say hello to Winnie the Pooh?"

"Well," I say, "Pooh is rather shy, but I'll ask." Jamie bounces in delight and her eyes glitter as I suppress a grin. "Winnie the Pooh," I say into the phone, "I know it's a lot to ask, but my niece Jamie would like to speak to you."

After a moment, I give my niece a solemn nod and pass the phone into her outstretched hands. For several minutes her excited chatter charms the adults in the room and then we hear her ask. "Oh Winne the Pooh, is Eeyore there?"

Jamie shoots us a triumphant look and I know Mom's turning the conversation over to Dad. In seconds his voice rumbles over the phone, low, slow and endearingly pessimistic.

"Hi Eeyore," Jamie dances in place, "are you having a good day?"

"No, no, I don't believe I am."

"But why?" She cries.

"I've misplaced my tail." Eeyore gives a dramatic sigh. "Everyone knows a donkey needs his tail."

"Oh Eeyore," Jamies voice rises, "I'll find your tail."

Eeyore sniffles and my sister rolls her eyes.

"I will find your tail Eeyore. I will find your tail and mail it to you."

"Oo kaay." As Eeyore, dad is so morose, I bite my cheek.

"Have a nice day Eeyore."

"I don't know if I can," Eeyore heaves another sigh, "but I'll try."

Friday, October 7, 2011

Shake em Honey

Shrugging into a parka, I reach for an old pair of leather gloves and catch dad watching me.

His blue eyes twinkle. "Shake out the gloves, honey."

"Really Dad, we're still doing this?" I smirk.

He guffaws and wiggles his fingertips in the air. "Want the gore-tex pants?"

"Nah, jeans are fine." I take one last sip of coffee and then work my hands into the gloves.

"Shake ... "

Jinxso bounds up the stairs. " ... The gloves out honey." We say in unison.  She takes a look at me and grins. "Did I ever tell you how I found out about Dad's fingers?"

"No." I watch Dad flip a hand in the air.

Jinxso's smile widens. "When I came up the stairs to Dads office and saw his bandaged hand. I said, 'what'd you do, stick your hand in the snow blower?'"

I smirk and reclaim my cup. "And?"

He said, "As a matter of fact, I did and your old boyfriend's father did the same thing, only he stuck his hand in further."

We howl. Dad's grin is sheepish, and Mom rolls her eyes. "Earl," she barks, biting back a laugh, "it's okay to be useful as well as ornamental. I'm sure the girls want waffles."

Of course we want waffles.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Stamp my Ticket

The Brat and her hairdresser on the set of the newest Bourne film. She'll be a gate agent.

Are we kidding people? Do you now see what I'm up against?

As the only kid in the family with a shy gene, I once told my father I was adopted.

His response. "No honey, you're mine. The rest are adopted."

I love Dad.

So gentle reader, I have a favour to ask. When you're sitting in a dark movie theatre and a certain cheeky blonde flits into view, please fling a few milk duds at the screen for me.

Honestly, I love her. This is just therapeutic exercise.

Oh come on. What if I told you, she takes pictures for the Lt Dan Band and spent a Madrid layover backstage with Bon Jovi?

Ah Hah, I thought you'd be on my side. May I suggest the extra large box of candy?

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

A Link to Share

"So Mom, you wanted me to share a picture with my sisters, but you didn't send one."

She laughs and I can hear Brat's voice echoing on tile. Mom and Brat are butterflies. They flit in and out of conversation and often chatter in unison. "Brat sent a picture." She tells me.

Uh huh. "I see," I roll my eyes at hubby and speak into the phone, "so you sent me a text, and then six hours later, Brat sent a picture, of someone I don't know, and I'm suppose to connect the dots?"

"Of course." She says.

"Of course." I echo. "So, what's been going on?"

"Well, Brat took us to the Lt Dan Band concert for wounded vets and while she took pictures, we enjoyed the show, which was a little loud for your father, but we had a delightful time, and then today Tara taught me to make earrings, and now we're going downtown for waffles, ... "

She pauses for breath, so I cut in. "Tara, who?"

"Tara. Oh she's a delight. She's a wounded veteran who has reinvented herself as a jeweler. She's a wonderful young lady and her designs are very clever."

"Really?" I manage, before she regales me with stories of her afternoon, of Tara's jewlery and Brat's agenda.

Several days later, Dad forwards a copy of Tara's email and his reply. I'm afraid that it's too late for Tara. My parents have claimed her and now that she's one of us, there is no escape. Next thing I know, Tara will be white water rafting with Jinxso, and hobnobbing with Brat.

Now, Tara sacrificed a lot for her country, and Mom's right, she's a delightful young woman. So get your butts over to her website and buy a shiney bauble or two for your loved one. I have a feeling she's going to be very busy this holiday season. Cheers.