Goodbye Uncle Chucky

When I was a kid, I always loved to visit with my Uncle Chucky.

You see, even though Uncle Chucky was my dad's baby brother, he was definitely the coolest of all the uncles.  He was one of the first people I knew to have a gigantic boom box in the eighties, and he listened to the kind of music that I liked too which was a major bonus.  In fact, when Kool and the Gang would belt out "Celebration", you could usually find Uncle Chucky doing his famous half strut/ half dance move and encouraging the rest of us to join in with him.

In short, Uncle Chucky was an enormous kid . . .an enormous kid with a giant heart.

I remember when my grandfather, Cap, died, I was just shy of my 12th birthday.  It was Halloween time, and all of the adults were mourning the loss of their dad.  And even though Chucky had just lost his dad,  he would have no part of me or my cousin's missing Halloween or my birthday.  We pieced together costumes from our cousin's house and we assembled in my grandparents' front living room.

"Everyone ready?" Chucky asked.

We all nodded eagerly, and then Chucky looked pointedly at me.

"Annie, WHAT is that?"

Not knowing what he could be talking about, I answered with a blank stare and a shrug of my shoulders.  He walked over to me with purpose and grabbed the plastic grocery bag I was planning to use to collect candy. 

"This!  What's this?  THIS will never do!"  Chucky explained, and then he was off.  He ran up my grandmother's stairs two at a time, and when he returned he carried pillows from her bed. He stripped those pillows of their cases and handed them out to me and to the other pillow-case-less cousins.

"NOW we are ready!" he declared when he finished, and then he led us through my first experience with sprinting during trick-or-treating.

That night I came home completely out of breath and exhausted, but I had an enviable mound of candy in my pillowcase that was probably almost as tall as I was, and I had a memory of my 12th birthday that is still etched on my heart. . . all because of Chucky.

Of course, Chucky was always up for a good time, and he loved a good game of cards.    He especially loved to hold all of his cards until he was just about to go out.  And when he did go out on you, he inevitably left you holding a fist full of face cards.  It was exasperating.   I swear,  the man was part "Rainman" in his ability to count cards.  And the worst part?  He would sit there smiling that sly smile of his while his eyes would dare you to try him again.  It was a challenge that I fell for many a time.

One Memorial Day Chucky loaded all of the kids into his car to take us to a parade.  Even though we were quite scrunched in the back seat and there was no air conditioning, even though our legs stuck to the leather of his seats, and even though his car over-heated on the highway on the way home, it didn't matter to us.  Uncle Chucky spoiled us that day.  He cranked the music loud in the car, he bought us every imaginable piece of junk food that the parade vendors hocked, and he took turns putting each of us on his shoulders so that we could see the parade better.  It was a great day.

And there were many great days.  I will always remember when Chuck sang and danced to Right Said Fred's "I'm Too Sexy" during our Mardi Gras family reunion.  I will remember his visits to my Florida childhood home and especially his stories about the not one, but two tickets he received on his drive down there.  I will remember his hearty laugh that bent him over at the waist when something tickled him, and I will remember the way that he liked his tea, "just so", with milk and sugar.  I will always remember Uncle Chuck the eternal kid splashing with my kids in the pool, just like he had splashed me oh so many years ago.

My, Uncle Chucky . . . he was one of kind.

And there is a hole in my heart today as I learned of his death.

But I am going to make myself a cup of his tea,
and crank up the music loudly,
and play rummy with my kids. . .

All in the hopes that Uncle Chucky is out there smiling.


*************************************************************

Love to all of my family.~Annie

Happiness is . . .

I am pretty easy when it comes to making me happy.

Give me my family, some playtime, and maybe something chocolate, and I am good to go.



My kiddies. . . this is what they normally look like.  Dare me to send this as a Christmas card pic?



So this past week, I was tickled to be spend oodles of time with my family on vacation.

We played on the beach.

We played in the pool.

We played at the amusement park.

We played with the gator at dinner. 

Yes . . . he is real!

Obviously the theme was . . .

We do it well.  Just watch!

What do you think?  Should I send it in to America's Funniest Home Videos?

********Linking to Mama Kat's this week!*************

If you tweet . . . join me on twitter!  @Annieinsanity

I Want To . . .

I want to read blogs about real, grown up people all day long, and I want to comment without abandon.

Instead, I read about cows that type and cows that go on strike, and I realize that it is pretty sad that I am actually jealous of the cows, their typing, and especially of their strike.



Picture compliments of Amazon.com



I want to escape to a warm, tropical place where I can drink a fruity drink poolside without hearing the  Dora the Explorer soundtrack.

Instead, I have an indoor picnic due to the mass amounts of snow and ice outside.  I sit at my coffee table and sip watery lemonade poured sloppily from a princess tea set . . . with the Dora the Explorer sountrack playing in the background.

I want to get gussied up for my hubs (and for me), go out to a fancy restaurant, drink adult beverages, and come home with enough energy to play (wink, wink!) for a few hours.

Instead, I don my best jeans and old navy tee, go out to a wing joint for wings and beer,  bring the kiddies along because there is a playroom and the kids eat free, and come home to collapse in bed with my clothes still on.

potterybarn.com

I want to have a living room that rivals a living room from a Pottery Barn catalogue.  I want an area rug that beckons bare feet,  artwork that inspires creativity, and a giant defining piece that anchors my furniture grouping.

Instead, I have a lived-in room that rivals the aftemath of a tornado.  There are goldfish swimming on my carpet, there is a 3 year old's permanent marker artwork on my wall, and there is a  broken, giant clock anchoring the wall that forever reads 5:51.


I want to play Wii Dance Party with my kids.  I want to listen to their laughs as I attempt my best 'running man' dance move.  I want to ignore the mountain of laundry that threatens to stage an avalache if I do not thin it out.

Instead, I play Wii Dance Party, I relish my kiddie's laughs, and I ignore Mt. Laundry for the time being.


I want to listen to my kiddie's adventures at school. I want to hear about hubs' day at work.  I want to hang on their each and every word and experience the day through their eyes.  I want to ignore the fact that it is 6:15, tummies are gurgling, and there is no dinner in sight.

Instead, I call Dominoes.  I let a homecooked dinner go. We have pizza and play Monoply.  All is right in my world.


My insteads . . .

My life. . .

My balance. . .



I love it, and I wouldn't change a thing.

******I am linking up with Mama Kat's writer's workshop this week.  The prompt was finding balance.*******

"Serious"ly Annie

Forgive me friends.

I do not have any funny stories to recount.

Or, any sassy observations to convey.


My heart is heavy today.


I just heard the news that a favorite uncle of mine has been diagnosed with liver cancer, and truthfully, I feel like I am under water and gasping for a breath.  You see, 8 years ago, hubs' mom was diagnosed with the same cancer.  At that time, I was younger, and more naive, and I didn't realize the gravity of a liver cancer diagnosis.  Even though it happened right in front of my eyes, I refused to see mom waste away with increasingly toxic doses of chemotherapy.  I was helped along in my denial by mom, of course.  You see, she was so very brave, and never once did she complain outright of pain or sickness.  Oh, she got a little cranky and even a bit spunkier than her normal self, but, she never complained about the cancer.  She was the ultimate mom, after all.  Worried about her kids and their feelings.  Selfless to the end.

But now that I am older, I see the seriousness of a liver cancer diagnoses, and it makes me feel like I have been punched in the stomach. Hard.


I ache.

I am tired.

And, most of all,  I want to reach out and hug my dad, my cousins, and my whole family.


Since they are far from me, I will hug my own little ones just a little bit closer.  I will drink in their delicious vitality, and  I will appeciate their warm smiles and mischievious laughs.  They heal the hurts.


Most of all, though,  I pray.

Positively Mom

If you read yesterday's post, then you know that my mom is a little abrreviationally challenged.(Yes. I made up that word. I am good like that.)

In the 90's, mom was working in a new middle school, and I was fresh out of college with a sparkly new teaching degree. We often talked "shop" about work, students and the like.
Well, mom's principal started a movement in her school about positivity. Not a bad idea in middle school and high school if you ask me. (There is a reason why the movie Mean Girls was a success, afterall. That kind of stuff really happens. No joke!)

Anyways, mom would often talk about the initiative, referring to it as the Only Positive People idea. Only Positive People in the classroom. Only Positive People on the school campus. Only Positive people on the school bus. You get the idea. Only Positive People was an idea that truthfully I only thought about in the educational setting.

So, imagine my surprise when my mom informed me that she was being featured on the local news for implementing the Only Positive People ideas. I was tickled for her!

That is, I was tickled until I saw the news clip.

There was mom with a microphone in her face, talking about Only Positive People, except, she wasn't using the phrase Only Positive People. She was saying things like, "We here at Blankety Blank Middle School are all for OPP! " And also, "OPP is for me!"

She was so excited to promote the positive attitude, but there was one problem.

In the 90's, OPP didn't just stand for Only Positive People. At the time, there was a very popular song by the group Naughty by Nature. It's title? OPP. Now, I probably don't have to tell you that with a group name that includes the word, Naughty, OPP did not reflect any sort of educational positivity. No. Not in the slightest. Naughty by Nature's version of OPP had the abbreviation stand for Other People's P****. (And, if you don't know what the last word is, then here are some hints. The last word starts with a P, rhymes with "wussy", and is another name for a kitty cat . . . among other things.)

Yes.

My mom went on TV and talked about being down with OPP.

I. was. mortified! How could she not know that she was talking about P**** on TV?!? Where all of our friends and neighbors could hear her?!? P****!!!! My mother!!!! It was too much ! That word (or reference to it) was never supposed to come out of my mom's mouth. I remember wanting to die, or at least leave the country.

No sooner than the news clip ended, the phone started ringing.

Really, looking back, it was my fault. I should have picked up on the abbreviation when we talked about Only Positive People. I am fairly certain her students had picked up on it judging by its immense popularity. Afterall, there is nothing like an inside joke that will embarrass a teacher. They probably still talk about it.

To this day, I still have friends that remind me of my mom and the OPP incident.

At least now we can laugh (or lol, mom).

The ANTI-CHRISTMAS Letter

Dear Friends and Family,

This past year has been a blur!  Our clan has all been busy and the kiddies are, of course, growing like weeds.  It is hard to believe that we have an 8, 5, and 2 year old!

Ummmm, let's see . . .  the highlights . . . 

Ellerie, our lovely 2 year old, is such a joy.  She is a budding artist.  Her favorite mediums are food (spaghetti and pudding), new and unwrapped pantiliners, and of course, fresh poopie.  We are seriously thinking of investing in a pre-school of the arts for this lively one next year.  Until then we will keep our eye on her closely as she has a tendency to get into a bit of trouble. (Currently, she is sporting a purple foot cast after breaking her foot.)

Ethan continues to amaze us with his skill and knowledge of the world.  He demonstrated his literal translation of the English language when he was told by his t-ball coach to stand behind Ryan in left field, and Ethan followed his direction exactly and stood 6 inches behind Ryan.  That boy is genius!  He has also announced to many public venues his intent to use the restroom facilities and also, his mother's intent to use the facilities.  With his play by play commentary on the family's bowel movements, he could be the next big ESPN commentator.  Obviously, we are grooming this fine character trait.

Abbie seems to be the resident fashionista of the household.  She has informed me that my hair is "ugly and getting grayer everyday".  What a little Stacy London in the making!  She has informed Paul that what he wears is not fashion. " It's old man clothes," she remarked.  A fashion eye at 8 years old.  Michael Kors . . . watch out!

Paul has been busy with our kitchen remodel.  Throughout his labor, the kids have learned such valuable lessons.  Their vocabulary is so much more colorful with some of the new four letter words that they now know.  Paul deserves all of the credit for that!

I, of course, have been my crazy self , but this year I particularly focused on my health.  For instance, I have single-handedly done my part to eradicate malnourishment by consuming vast quantities of Krispy Kremes and Dove Chocolates.  It is the least that I could do.  I have also actively worked on lowering my cholesterol levels by having a glass of red wine as needed.  I have also worked diligently on my mental health.  Writing blog posts about my everyday life has brought me to the conclusion that my life is insane . . . but . . . so is everyone else's life.  This gives me a sense of peace and joy.

So, all in all, it has been a memorable and fun-filled year for our family!  

Merry Christmas!

Love,

Annie and family

********Disclaimer************ 

 To my IRL friends and family that do bless us every year with an actual, honest-to-goodness, Christmas letter,  I mean you no offense.  My anti-letter is just poking a bit of fun, because I have never been able to see myself writing one of those my kid is on the honor roll kind of letters.  I guess I am just a bit too warped, or my family is.  Whatever.  Forgive me!  And, Merry Christmas! - Annie

An Apple a Day . . .

On one of those beautiful fall days last week, we went to a local apple orchard and picked apples. Now, before we arrived, I had never been there before. I imagined large, established apple trees. I envisioned walking under a canopy of branches strewn with ripe apples. I worried that I would have to deal with Ellerie and a ladder. Much to my surprise, though, this orchard was not the orchard I imagined.

This orchard was, well, a mini orchard. The local farmer invested in hybrid apple trees that only grow to about 5 1/2 feet and that grow clusters of apples on their low branches. These were more like apple bushes rather than apple trees.

And, I have to be honest. I was a little disappointed.

That is, I was disappointed until I realized how very excited the kiddies were. They were tickled pink that they could reach each and every apple to pick exactly the one that they wanted.

So, I turned my frown upside down, and I got to picking!

Once El realize that she was actually allowed to pull the apples off of the trees, she went to town! She often pulled so hard that she toppled herself right over. This apple was particularly stubborn. (Just like El! Ha!)

Later, as we filled our apple bag, El tried in vain to carry it from one spot to another. I even had a hard time with it once it was full. It was over 25 pounds! (So, if my calculations are correct, that made a 50 plus pound carry for me back to the car . . . 25lb. apples + 30 plus lbs. of El = one tired Annie!)

The kiddies obviously had a ball, and I did too. I think that the apple picking may become an annual fall tradition.

Now . . . does anyone have any good apple recipes?

More Than Words . . .

Things that I have said (that I never thought I would have to say):

Don't play with your penis.

Pee- pees are private.  Please go put on your underwear. 

What do you mean you do not have on underwear?

Feet don't eat.  Get your feet off the table.

Boogers are made of dirt.  Do you seriously want to eat dirt?

Hold it in!  Hold it in!  Don't get sick at the table!

Did you wipe your butt well?

Did you wash your hands?

Are you sure?

Really?

Mommy needs a dose of caffeine.  Please, let mommy get some coffee.

I am not sleeping.  I am resting my eyes.

Aren't you tired?  How is it possible that you guys are not tired?

Did you boy look or did you girl look for that?

Really?

Did you move the milk before you asked me where it is?

Hmm.  I thought so.

Sniff her butt.  Does she stink?

Is that poopie or chocolate?   Mmmmm.  Chocolate.

Ellerie!  That is not a slide!  That is a bannister!

Do I have to be Darth Vader again?

No, it isn't a step monster it is a step- mother.  There is a difference.

Tinkerella?  Oh!  You mean Tinkerbell!

Where are your clothes?

Why are you naked, outside, on the swing?

Is that another outfit today?

Sniff the laundry.  It may not be that dirty.

No, you are a mo mo!

The tickle monster is coming to get you!!!

Snuggle closer.  I am cold!

I love you as many leaves are on the trees on the way to school.

More kisses please!

My heart hurts, I love you so much!

And all of these . . . just in the past week.  My family is the best.

Busy Weekend . . .

Busy, busy weekend . . .

Ellerie pee-peed on the potty. Hooray! And then, she promptly ( and proudly, I might add) pooped on the floor.

Ethan jumped off the diving board for the first time. Hooray! And then, he proceeded to jump in 257 more times, got whistled at by the lifeguard for jumping a little too recklessly, and then spent 20 minutes crying about how he got in trouble by the lifeguard.

Abbie went to an intergalactic space princess sleepover party. (Say that 5 times fast. Or not. But at least think about that theme. Whew! Even that tires me out!) Hooray! And then, she came home and announced that while she had slept only a little, she had, in fact, eaten a lot.

Paul began phase 2 of the kitchen remodel . . . tearing down the wall between the kitchen and dining room. Hooray! And then, he and I both remembered the sheer joy of dust that accompanies demolition of this old house.

I finished up staining the deck rails. ( Did I mention that hubby had power washed and stained the main portion of our deck this weekend too?) Hooray! And then, the heavens opened up and it began to rain heartily all over my finished work.

It is a good thing that I like to laugh, because otherwise I may have cried!

A,B,C's of vacation

Update:  Apparently I do not know my Abc's, because on my original post, I forgot the letter D.  Fortunately, my lovely mother reminded me and suggested  dog.  Go figure.  So mom, you ask and you shall receive.  Don't say I've never done anything for Cappy.

Abbie

Bare- Bottomed

Cutie!

Doggie

Ethan

Family

The Problems of a Wart-Free Vacation

I am in a bit of a limbo here.

Sharing a vacation with my family and with my mom and dad is a joyous occasion.  Yet, I also find it imperceptibly difficult, too.

Why?  You ask.

Simple.  It is hard to be the mother when your mother thinks of you as the daughter.  

Role definition has never come easy to my clan.  In fact, there is a running joke in the family about asking a question and getting an answer.  No matter who poses the question or who is supposed to answer, inevitably, my mother answers it for him or her.  Never fail!  It used to make my sister and my own skin crawl when mom would do this.  Now, we just shrug, giggle, and realize that mom means no harm.  She is just being a mom in her own mom way. 

But, when you are used to being the mom and being responsible for your own family day in and day out, it is very difficult to have someone (even if it is your loving and dear mom) try to up and take care and take control of you and yours.  Next to impossible I would say.  Really, even when it comes to deciding on food for dinner, my family looks to me and hubby, but mom also wants input too.  Because she is, of course, always a mom first.  And, even though my brain logically understands this, my heart sometimes jumps first.  So, instead of two adult moms coming to a rational decision about dinner.  We get one older mom with hurt feelings and one younger mom trying to balance her mom/ daughter role so that no one gets upset.  

Clearly, this doesn't work.

Instead of a harmonious blend of generations, we get a cacophony of clashing roles!

We gnash teeth . . .

We walk on eggshells with our decisions. . .

We try to put ourselves in the other person's position . . .

But. . .

We fail quite often.  

And, this makes for some very grumpy, very non-vacation like moments of power struggling . . . interrupted by moments of sheer,relaxing fun.

So, while not the ideal vacation every moment of every day, it is my real vacation, where my whole family gets together . . . warts and all.  We may argue over who picks the activity or how to deal with a cranky, up too late toddler, but we still can laugh over me burning up all the snacks stored in the oven because I didn't check to see the oven was empty. We can still giggle over escaped naked kids running amok after a necessary sand-removing bath.  We can still roar over silly squirt gun fights with the kiddies or even how my mom forgot to rinse conditioner out of her hair and only "remembered" why her hair was a bit greasy a day later.  Those are some good times.  Undeniably.

So, warts are good.

And, frankly, I wouldn't have my vacation wart-free for the world.  Because in my book, wart-free would equal laugh-free. And boring.

Not my kind of vacation.

I'll take my vacation (and my life, for that matter) laugh-filled . . . with a  large side of warts. 

What's a Calgon Moment?

I gave the signal.

I raised  my eyebrow and slyly  glanced upwards.  

Hubby winked, nodded silently and gave me a thumbs up.  So, as kiddies were occupied by toys and homework, I sneaked up the stairs to attempt to do the impossible . . . 

bathe by myself.

You would think that this would be an easy task.  You know, just turn on the shower, lock the door, and let the water warm up.  Unfortunately, this scenario never happens.

First and foremost, because we live in an older home, we do not have a lock on the bathroom door.  Every time that we consider the obvious solution, installing a lock on the door, Paul reminds me of the time that Ethan, aged 2, locked himself into our old bathroom.  It took  30 minutes, several hundred curse words, and finally, a running start for hubby to break through the bathroom door, where a completely happy Ethan had stuffed the toilet with tissue.  The best part was when Ab looked at Paul and said with awe, "Daddy, you look just like Mr. Incredible!"  A priceless family memory, yes, but also too recent a memory to consider installing a lock.

Consequently, when I try to shower or relax in the tub, I have to be stealth.  I have to sneak to my bathroom, avoiding creaky stairs and dodging the kid infested areas of the house or the inevitable WILL occur.  They will come.  Just like in Field of Dreams when the little girl says to Kevin Costner with certainty, "People will come." and he instantly knows  that they will.  If I let on that I am venturing into the bathroom, THEY WILL COME.  It is a given.

So, it naturally follows that I have showered in various, albeit, odd situations.  Quite often, my kiddies come in to use the facilities while I am under the spray. I usually only discover this after that all too familiar fragrant aroma reaches my nose.  (That and their stifled giggles are a dead give away.)  It is sooooo nice to shower with such natural aroma therapy.  Yuck!  I have also showered with kiddies that appear naked as if from no where and climb right into the shower with me, all the while asking me thoughtful questions like, "Mom, why is there hair THERE?" and my personal favorite, "Mom. . . (pause) . . . your boobs are so nice and dangly!"  Dangly?!  Now there is a word that should never be used to describe one's breasts!  Earrings, yes.  Boobs, never! Or what about the times when I am asked to help with homework?  There have been more than a few times when Ab will come in, perch herself on the pot, and ask homework questions.  Never mind that hubby is usually right downstairs to help.  Apparently, I am the parent of choice.  Lucky me.

So, it goes without saying that my attempts to be sneaky failed, because shortly after the water started running, I had my first visitor, Ab.  She needed to use the facilities.  So, while I held my nose and attempted to wash my hair at the same time, visitor number two appeared, Ethan.  Before I could say anything, Ab piped in, "E!!!!! Get out!!! I'm pooping.  I need privacy!"  (Funny how they understand the concept of privacy when it applies to them, but not when it applies to dear old mom.)

"Ab!  You didn't use your manners.  You apost to say, 'E, will you please leave?' "

I silently agreed with him, kept washing, and listened for the next quip.  

"Still!"  Ab countered.  Still?!  The girl was going to need to step up her arguments if she was going to win against her smart alecky little brother.

"Still nothing, Ab.  I need mom anyway."

At this point, I was expecting the shower door to slide open so that he could ask me face to my  naked body, but instead I had my next surprise.  

"Honey?!"  It was hubby.  Now there were 4 of us in approximately 40 square feet, and I couldn't help but wonder where, oh where, the baby was during all of this.

As the shower door slid open with, "Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!"  my question was answered as El climbed over the tub edge and jumped into the shower with me, . . . with all of her clothes on!

Realizing that this was a no win situation, I stripped the baby, shot the soggy diaper into the garbage, and barked at Paul, "What?!  What do you need?!"  (I think that I may have been a bit short, but hey, I was now showering and mothering to my whole family at the same time.  This wasn't the relaxing Calgon moment I had hoped for.)

"Oh nothing honey.  Just wanted to tell you that your mom is on your cell phone.  I'll leave it on the counter for you!"

And with that, I started laughing uncontrollably.  Three kids, a hubby, and my mom in my bath. At the same time.  It was too much.

I laughed and laughed.

It was either that, or cry.