Well, it happened. My sister came to town with the kids. They stayed with my folks (who live two hours away from me). I got to town Friday evening after work. The first thing I saw were all kinds of chalk drawings in the driveway. Not hopscotch boards and smiling suns (which is what you normally see), but body outlines and notes to aliens. I see a little bit of counseling in my nephew's future.
I walked into the house I grew up in, and it was eerily quiet. "Hello?" I called out. SILENCE. Hmmm. As I walked into the livingroom, I was stunned. My mom is a tidy woman, but her house was wrecked. It looked like it was ransacked by a gang of 4 year olds. There were toys everywhere. I noticed pieces of cut up banana on the couch, some on the coffee table...there was a teeny sock abandoned in the middle of the kitchen floor. I saw the TV remote on top of the baker's rack and a half eaten granola bar shoved into the flower centerpiece on the coffee table. If I didn't know better, I would have thought a group of children came in, trashed the house, kidnapped my parents and dragged them to Chuck E. Cheese.
Right about then I heard a car pull up outside and what sounded like 15 car doors close. The front door opened and it was a whirlwind of my parents, my sister, two pizzas, and at least 27 kids. Or just my two nephews. But it all happened so fast, with the screams and the hugs and the kisses, I wasn't really sure what was going on. I remember taking my watch off and throwing it at someone, thinking I was being mugged. Turns out, it was just my 6 year old nephew, giving me some rib tickles.
Things eventually calmed down and I have to say, Easter was a success this year. My dad, in his ultimate craziness, made two types of meat. Thankfully, neither meat-type was rabbit, and if you knew how redneck my dad could be, you would realize what a blessing that was. By 9am Easter morning, both kids had gone through their wall-climbing sugar highs and had crashed. Bits of tin foil wrappings were all over the floor like confetti. At 2pm, everyone started showing up for the early dinner. My stepbrother stunk like grease and a gym locker (stuffed with a dead hooker). I don't know how I picked the short straw, but I got stuck sitting next to him at the table. It really sucked, especially the part when he ripped a SBD (silent but deadly). I'm not sure I can describe how raunchy that fart was, but I'll try. If you could imagine a homeless man's fart, the kind of homeless man who only eats 3-day old hamburgers and poop, that pretty much sums it up. Thankfully, we had finished the meal by that time but it was still enough to make me want to punch him in the throat. I think a little bit of stank got in my mouth. I left the table.
But now it's all over and my sister is back in Arizona with her crazy little kids. I have to admit, I miss the little buggers. And it got me thinking about having children myself. I don't know, maybe I'll buy a kid and see how it works out. If it clashes with my lifestyle, I'll take it out into the country and set it free. In the meantime, though, I am keeping a close watch on myself and making sure I'm not "collecting" two or more of anything.
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