Santa 2/Grinch 2
I've been woefully remiss in reading your blogs during the last month or so (due to school and family issues), and I deeply apologize. I'm been catching up as fast as I can!
The very funny and talented Ruth Dynamite wrote a fabulous post about the endearing tradition of repeating peculiar family lore during the Thanksgiving holiday, and it's been percolating around in my brain for a few weeks.
That's one of the wonderful things about blogging. You stumble upon a bunch of people from all over who share an incredible array of experiences from their lives, and something somebody writes sparks you into a burst of creativity.
So Ruth's post about family stories made me think of a couple within my own clan, one that I'm going to share below.
If anybody has a funny, touching, inspirational, silly, etc family story to share---write it up on your blog and let me know.
I'll link and pimp the heck out of it after the 14th of the month.
About 10 years ago, we had a family get-together. My older brother, who lived in another state at the time, came into town a couple of days early. We usually use our Little Guy's room as the guest room, not only because he is an exceptionally clean and organized kid, but also because he has a nice big queen-sized bed.
When we have guests, he either sleeps in a single pull-out up in our loft, or beds down in a pile of sleeping bags in the basement.
My brother didn't want to put the kid out, so he volunteered to sleep in the basement with the sleeping bags. It's not as primitive as it sounds---it's a nice basement!
Anyway, big brother's girlfriend was due to arrive late one night (she couldn't get off work earlier), and took a cab from the airport. While we were waiting, we started cocktail hour without her and were feeling mighty jolly when she arrived.
I told my guys to have a camp-out in the basement so that my brother and his girl could use the bedroom. My brother protested that they'd be "fine" on the basement floor, but I could tell that his girlfriend wasn't thrilled with the idea.
As the evening wore on, we got quite tipsy.
Ok, scratch that.
We were sh*t-faced, and spent the night reminiscing about silly family stories (like the one my brother NEVER lets go of---he tells everyone about the time I stuck a bobby pin in an electrical outlet and zapped the hell out of myself. He embellishes it with every retelling).
Brother's girlfriend was simply exhausted by the plane ride and altitude change and stumbled off to bed. We all stayed up for another hour or so, drinking and laughing.
Finally my brother decided that he'd had enough and was going to hit the sack. The rest of the party was winding down, and hubby and I started collecting glasses.
Suddenly we heard a bellow. And a thump! thump! thump! My brother came stumbling up the stairs from the basement and raced into the kitchen, looking shocked, sober and a little sick.
"What's wrong? What happened?"
My big kid (who was about 9 at the time) appeared in the doorway behind him, rubbing his eyes.
"Uncle R hugged me and gave me a Wet Willie (licked his ear)!"
Believe me, Uncle "Willie" is never going to live THAT one down!