LMNOP

Thanksgiving Update

We had a lovely Thanksgiving at my parents' house on Thursday.  I put a couple pics up on Flickr.  Here is the Official Dorky Sibling Photo of 2009:

This would have made for an excellent Christmas card photo, save for two details:

1. It looks like my older sister is missing a leg; and
2. Oh yeah, my parents don't send out a picture of us anymore, because they send out a picture of my nephew, because they love him more.  (Not that I am really complaining.  We were getting a little old for it.)

Speaking of the nephew--he is in a phase right now where he has realized that EVERYTHING IS A DRUM, AS LONG AS YOU BANG ON IT WITH SOMETHING.  Which means we get treated to a lot of adorable impromptu concerts, such as this:

Just Check Which Categories This Got Filed Under

This would be circa 1989.  Michael in the shorts suit, Kate in the middle, me with the Popeye sash, Kelly in the back looking miserable. And then there's Mom, who at the moment this was snapped was probably realizing that my dad was the smart one to be behind the camera, because in exactly 20 years there might end up being a thing called the Internet, and this might end up on it.

Nephew Update: 15 Months and Totally a Munchkin

Those Blanton Studios People Did Quality Work

To my mother, there is no greater sin than throwing something out.  Back when we all lived at home, it was not unusual for one of us to dispose of something--say, a half-empty bottle of shampoo--only to find it mysteriously back in its place a couple days later.  Apparently to Mom, the only thing more absurd than going through our trash was the thought that four ounces of Herbal Essences might go unused.

This phenomenon was not limited to bath products, though; clothes, shoes, and all sorts of miscellaneous discarded objects would all make Lazarus-like reappearances in our rooms, usually without any spoken explanation from my mother.  If we did happen to challenge her on the bizarre reappearance of an item, we would be given one of two responses: "That cost good money," or (if it was something like an "Earth Day 1990" pin), "I'm sure one of your siblings could use that."

Thanks in part to this practice of domestic Dumpster diving, my parents' basement has become home to a lot of bizarre crap over the past couple decades.  Since I moved out of my parents' house, my mom has taken to occasionally surprising me with boxes of random junk that she salvaged over the years.  Recently, for example, I was presented with a Looney Toons mug containing some old keychains, my ninth grade photo ID, and my old retainer.  This little terrarium of uselessness has been sitting in my car ever since, because while I have absolutely no use for any of the items and refuse to bring them into my house, I am also strangely unable to throw them out.  This leaves me to wonder if it is my genetic lot in life to hang on to such things, maybe until I have a child of my own to bequeath them to.  Because honestly, what future descendent of mine wouldn't want this?

Why Yes, That Is a Green Velvet Bow Tie

My brother, the very essence of St. Patrick's Day glam.

One-Year Nephew Update, Plus Some Other New Pics

My nephew turned one yesterday, and we celebrated over the weekend with a party at my sister's house.  In his first year of existence, Caedan has transformed from being similar in size (and activity level) to a Chipotle burrito--

--to a real, honest-to-gosh human with a personality.

Maybe it's because he is the first human baby that I have been able to observe closely over an extended period of time, but even after seeing him every week for the past year I still do not entirely get where all this little person-ness came from.  I am fairly certain there is a significant amount of magic involved.  I mean, there was a time in my very recent memory when this kid did not even understand what his own hand was, and had to be protected from his own fingernails--how did that same kid figure out how to take said hand, pick up a pretend phone, and say, "Hellllllllloooooo" into it?!  If I was still learning at that speed, I could probably cure cancer on my lunch break tomorrow.

Anyway, I put up some birthday pics of the neph here, including shots of the awesome present I got him.  I had Etsy seller CrashCanStudio custom-make him the most awesome stuffed felt electric guitar.

Also up on Flickr: pics from Matt's 26th birthday, and a couple shots of Pancake's dog park outing with his BFF (and obedience classmate) Tucker.

Periodic Nephew Update: Christmas Morning

Periodic Nephew Update

Age: 9 mos.

Cuteness level: Heightened

Om: nom nom nom

Parenting by Natural Selection

Every Sunday night my siblings and I meet at my parents' house for dinner, and since my sister had Caedan in February the dinner talk has understandably grown more baby-centric than ever before.  The best part about these conversations is when a typical baby-related topic--toys, nutrition, safety hazards, etc.--leads my mom to reveal some slightly sketchy glimpse at how we ourselves were reared.  "Oh, Dimetapp always knocked you kids right out," she might say during a conversation about fussiness, or, while we're all wondering about the safety of a particular toy, "Yeah, those seem dangerous, all right . . . but then again, you kids always had them."

These comments are usually presented as an aside, but they always bring the conversation to a screeching halt.  "You DRUGGED US with DIMETAPP?!" we'll shout, incredulous.  "What were you thinking?!" But rather than respond to our indignant cries, she just smiles and says something to the effect of, "You all lived, didn't you?" 

For this reason, we've taken to speculating that there were in fact 18 of us kids at one time, and that this number was gradually whittled down to the current four--the hardy survivors.  This would make sense, except--as my younger sister points out--for one flaw: me.

"There's no way you would have been one of the strongest," she says every time we mention the Survivor Theory of Parenting.  "Not unless the other 14 were absolutely pathetic."

She has a point.

She's also a bitch.

Chubbeh Bebbeh Nephew Takes a Bath

SERIOUSLY, CHILD.  IF YOU KEEP BEING THIS CUTE I WILL BE FORCED TO EAT YOU.