Last Splash

The gene pool could use a little Chlorine.

So, apparently, all my talk about not having a redneck Christmas was empty. On Sunday evening, I showed up at my parents' house for the Big Johnson Christmas to find one aunt (the one that married in) crying and another aunt (the one that is head of the family since my granny died) consoling her. They spent an hour moving from kitchen table to couch, speaking in hushed voices and making everyone else feel uncomfortable for either eavesdropping (which I do naturally and very well) or ignoring them.

Finally, almost two hours late, one of my cousins arrived. (The oldest son of the cryer.) And he brought his four month old daughter and her mother with him. I phrase it that way because the mother and my cousin are not married, or engaged. I'm not actually sure that they are still dating. If they are, I don't think they want to be. In any case, my aunt starts shooting dirty looks to anyone in the family that shows any attention to the baby's mother (let's call her Pam) and when my cousin asks if aunt Shelley* wants to hold the baby, she replies "damn right I do". So, he starts to hand her over, and Shelley pushes the baby away and mutters "she's crying. I know what a crying baby looks like". Apparently, after you raise 5 kids you are no longer able to hold a baby that's crying. I thought it might make you more comfortable, but what do I know?

Pause...to be finished tomorrow...

Okay...one month later...I've held you at bay so long you probably don't want to hear the rest of the story anymore, so I will make it short and sweet...

So, Pam, who has obviously been feeling her baby's daddy's mama's tenseness for several months now, jumps out of her chair (remember, she has just met my entire extended family) and grabs my cousin's arm, saying "Let's Go...I don't have to take this..."

Well, the next thing any of us know, Aunt Shelley and Pam are having an extremely cold, extremely uncomfortable argument in the foyer with my cousin standing in between them trying to man up, saying, "let's go out side right now and talk about this, leave the children here..." (By children, I mean Pam's two older kids, by different fathers, and apparently she's still married to the oldest one's dad...) And then Aunt Shelley crosses the line. She leans down and grabs Pam's arm while she's trying to fasten the baby into her carseat and says in her best self-righteous born-again Christian sneer "look here, missy, I've got something to say to you..." and out of nowhere, my Uncle Ray, the most Gentle of all of the Johnson men (and the least likely to use physical force in any situation, mostly because he's the only sober one) comes from nowhere across the living room and grabs Aunt Shelley's arms and pins them behind her, trying to force her through the front door. (It has been determined since that it was because he wanted the whole mess to be taken outside instead of his family embarrasing themselves at his big brother's house.) Well, when my cousin sees his dad hurting his mom, he jumps on his back like a crazed animal, and all four of the adults, two kids, carseat, and diaper bag are suddenly trying to hurdle through my parents' front door AT THE SAME TIME. You can only imagine what this did to the decorations...

In any case, spare the major details, this all spilled into the front yard with my mom saying "not in my house" and my aunt trying to jump in the middle, and my drunk cousin trying to break up the fight (or maybe trying to get into it himself, who really knows) and the rest of us standing at the front door watching in disbelief as son fought father and trashy ho girlfriend sat in the car staring straight ahead like this was EXACTLY how she had pictured Christmas with her boyfriend's family going down. It took close to an hour to get back to normal, and most of that was spent with all of us cooped up inside wanting to talk about it but knowing it wasn't appropriate while my mom and aunt tried to play go between with the two couples to get them to forgive each other and come back in to celebrate (NOT Happening, Duh).

And then we opened presents...

So, we got good and redneckity down in North Kack after all, ya'll.

posted by: Cannonball14 at 18:30 | link | comments (1) |

I have a rant, and I will apologize in advance to anyone out there that is a parent, since I am not. I am really sick of this new style of parenting out there, you know, the one that has everyone scared to do or say anything to their kids that may cause emotional scarring later in life. Let me clue you in: EVERYONE will have emotional scarring, no matter how happy and well-adjusted they grew up. By you giving in to your freaking kids on every issue under the sun, you are creating a person who grows up thinking everything will always be their way. And, if you raise your child in a vacuum-sealed bubble "oh, we don't want Jonny to get hurt...so we didn't let him try out for football...he was being bullied, so we switched schools...he didn't make the swim team, so we spoke to the principal and school board about being more inclusive" WAKE UP...your child will be scared to try anything. Okay, I'm collecting my thoughts because I'm coming off a little disorganized.

I've been stewing over this for a while, after seeing all the parents in the mall for years who make excuses like "oh, the kids won't let me shop for long". Well, lady, 'the kids' are 9 and 12, and I'm pretty sure you just spend a couple hundred on them at Abercrombie, so they can sit quietly in a store for an hour while you get yourself something. So, it's well known that a lot of parents have basically traded in everything about their life before to cater to every whim and desire of their child's. I'm not saying that your life and priorities shouldn't change...I can tell that just by preparing myself to start trying to get pregnant...I'm quitting smoking, I spend most nights cooking dinner at home, I clean the house more and keep things organized, I rarely go out with friends just to 'drink and catch up', my husband and I spend less money on food...but, what makes being a parent so hard now? Do you forget what it was like to grow up goig over to a cousin's house on Saturday night and playing in a back bedroom while the adults sat around playing Pictionary and drinking? Because that's what our parents did...when they need a break, they called someone else with kids and said, "I've had a shitty week and I really want to relax tonight...let's get together".

And seriously, up until a kid hits at least 9 months, you can go to your mother-in-law's house for dinner and not go home until 9 or 10. You know why? Because your baby will eat, sleep, and poop whether she's at home or at grandma's. You don't have to be sealed into your house by 7PM every night. You don't have to change everyone's Christmas plans because "it's so much for her to go to so many places in two days..." or "shes been out a lot lately, it's not good for her". She's six freaking weeks old...she doesn't care if she's getting fed at your house or not, as long as she's getting fed, getting held, and sleeping well. Have you ever thought that maybe it's a good idea to let your baby meet lots of new people in early life so that she will grow up being able to communicate with everyone? Or do you really want her to be just like her mom, who gets nervous when she's left in the room alone with one of her husband's friends or family members, because she's so socially inept that she doesn't know how to speak to people...

In any case, this probably doesn't make a whole lot of sense to many, but I'm trying to prepare myself to be the kind of parent that does what is best for my child without losing all sense of who I am, who my friends are, and what my marriage should be! I know people say things change after you have kids, but I look at the way my parents raised me and my sister and think we had a lot of boundaries, a good amount of freedom, and respect for adults, and that's exactly what I want for my child. Not a snot nosed brat who expects to get her way all of her life because her parents have 'let her make her own decisions' from birth. That's a load of crap, all the people who 'treat their children like adults'...there is a reason your child is not an adult and can't make it's own decision. Seriously, people, lighten up...

posted by: Cannonball14 at 16:55 | link | comments |
meow

Christmas in the South

Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to go through any stereotypical back-asswards bible rituals we go through down here or anything...I hope I am not perpetuating the myth that anyone born and raised anywhere between NC and MS are Southern-drawled babbling idiots. I'm going to talk about weather. Yes, weather.

See, there is no snow here like most of the rest of you have (unfortunately, there's no precipitation of any kind). There are no black peacoats with soft furry green scarves and silky leather gloves, no chance of sliding my arms into that great knee length wool dress coat in that hot shade of red I bought on my last NY trip, no corderoys, no boots, no chunky knit turtlenecks. This week, there are denim capri's and little cap sleeve tee shirts and

God-forbid-I-have-to-keep-my-pedicure-up flip-flops!

And if tradition holds, it won't last. Not forever, anyway. It will be 80 degrees today, and tomorrow's highs will be in the 50's. Back to jeans and long sleeve tees and (optional) socks. And, it may snow at some point in the coming winter, but not before or during Christmas. This is not global warming, either, this is normal. In fact, as a child I wished vehemently for a White Christmas each and every year. I think what I have come to realize as an adult is that it was great that we never had one. Because if there is one stereotype that holds true, it is that Southerners don't drive in the snow. (That's an entirely different post altogether...)

In any case, what I was trying to get at was that basically, if it had snowed on Christmas, I could not have spent my glorious childhood at my Granny's house, ringleading a group of ten cousins outside to the field and woods behind her house. 70 degree Christmases were perfect for our expeditions. We opened our presents, ate some snacks (there was never a traditional dinner with so many people there; there were cheeses and meats and pickles and olives and little smokies in barbecue sauce and chips and dips and nuts and so many yummy things to munch on all night long) and were promptly pushed outside by aunts and uncles so that their party could begin. There was this terrific coming of age...first, you wanted nothing to do with the 'old people'. Then, around 12 or 14 you started kind of wondering what they did that made them sound like they had so much fun. Around 16 you got moody and tired of playing with the little kids, and desperately wanted to join the grown-ups. And finally, the Christmas after your 18th birthday, there you were, with your Aunt slipping you a little wine and your older cousin slipping you a drag from his cigarette and your dad slipping you a habanero pepper to eat in front of your uncles. What wonderful memories from Christmas!

This will be the first year that we do not have this celebration on Christmas Day. My sister and I have pushed hard this year to be able to have an intimate Christmas with our immediate family, and by some great power my dad got my aunt, the family matriarch, to agree to have the (lovingly nicknamed "Big Johnson") Christmas party the Sunday before. So, this is the year for new memories...a quiet steak dinner with just the six of us, and an evening spent together without 30 other family members involved. Of course, this means that Christmas now stretched over three days instead of two, but I think I can deal with that just fine... 

posted by: Cannonball14 at 15:54 | link | comments (1) |

Well, well, well...I've been tagged. I don't know whether to be flattered or pissed. Since it was the amazingly talented Yoshick, and she did use the phrase "I'm curious to see where you'll take this" I will assume flattery. So, thanks, Ms. Martini...

So, here goes:

I woke up hungry. I pulled my bedroom curtain to the side and looked out on a hazy morning. I dragged myself into the kitchen, in search of something to eat. I reached for a jar of applesauce sitting next to the sink, and found it very cold to the touch. I opened the jar and realized it was frozen. (Splotchy)

My first idea was to put the applesauce in the microwave. Hey, I was still tired. Could I scoop some out and put whipped cream on it? No, too solid. Why was it so damn cold in here? I walked over to the thermostat and saw that the heat hadn't clicked on all night and the temperature had dropped substantially overnight. Now, tired and hungry, I opened the access panel on the heater. There's the problem: why was someone cooking a duck in here? (SamuraiFrog)

I bent down and scooped up the uncooked duck carcass. There was no way I was going to let it go to waste, especially considering I had applesauce on hand. I placed it in a roasting pot and went back to reset the heater. As I continued to wake up, I realized that my roommate had spent the night at his girlfriend's place and couldn't have put the duck there. "How the hell did it get there?" I wondered. Just then, an already odd situation became even stranger. The lifeless duck animated, flapped its featherless wings, and began to speak. (Some Guy)

I had a choice to make: do I go along with this impossibly reincarnated duck drama that's unfolding before me, or do I phone Dr. Leary and get my prescription changed? Feeling more comfortable believing the Chemical Dementia theory, I pressed Dr. L's speed dial button. That's when I noticed that the duck was wearing my watch. And he had a knife. And he was telling me to lie on the floor. (Cooper Green)

The duck stared me down from across the room, if it is possible to stare without eyes, and repeated its instruction, gesturing with a long, thin knife which I must have also left on the counter.  This line of this might have sounded more menacing coming from an undead bird with a carving knife, but its voice was delighfully light and British-sounding.  This was a fact that wasn't helping me establish the boundaries of reality, but I knew that my hero wouldn't wait to find out.  My hero wouldn't call his psychiatrist and inquire about hallucinogenic side effects with an enemy in the home.  Oh hell no.  That's not what Patrick Swayze would do!!  "Listen buddy," I said in my most patronizing voice, my hand groping on the nearby counter for something to pick up, "assuming this is real and not some delightful side effect of mixing my favorite blue pills with my favorite alcoholic liquid, then in the real world, I'm the lazy sort of guy who leaves out -"  I found the applesauce jar and waved it at the duck, "applesauce overnight.  And, well you know what that makes me?  One lazy bastard.  It makes me the sort of guy who never ever sharpens his knives either.  So the knife you're holding?  It couldn't cut warm butter if it held still.  And I won't hold still.  So tell me, you wanking, british zombie duck, do you really think your kung fu is stronger than mine?"   I held up the apple sauce, preparing to throw, and the duck quacked out a blood-curdling, curse-laden scream, before running straight for me, kamikaze style. (Yoshick)

Suddenly, and in slow motion, I realize I do not actually know kung fu, but I do remember watching all of the Karate Kid movies (well, except for The Next Karate Kid, because that was just absurd and also I really hate Hilary Swank). In any case, as the strains of "Glory of Love" begin to pipe mysteriously from the air conditioning vents, accompanied by a rolling black fog that smells like white truffles, I try to position myself in the flying swan or crow or whatever it's called, except I can't seem to lift my leg from the ground. Thinking that my worst fear has come true and I am stuck in a molasses puddle, I cast my eyes slowly to the floor. "What the f...!?" I think as I look down. Chuck Norris is holding my feet still with one hand. With the other, he lifts his finger to his lips in the "sshhhh" motion and whispers, "be vewy, vewy quiet..."(Cannonball)

So, now for the honors...for being my only friends on mo'time besides Yoshick: Windhazel, AmeriganGirl, and Greeneyes should have something brilliant to add to this. And I will also go out on a limb and say, Howard, if you are reading this, I think you should get involved...and for my final selection...JustMe, let's see if you have a knack for the absurd. Copy, paste, and add...

posted by: Cannonball14 at 16:24 | link | comments (2) |