My family attended the christening of our new little nephew over the weekend in Cincinnati. Buck was honored to become the godfather of the sweet little pumpkin, Baby Peter. Peter is the kind of infant who is mostly content and smiles at the slightest possibility of love. I bet he even smiles when a cat accidentally brushes its tail up against his chubby cherub legs. I swallowed a giant dose of cuddles and snuggles to ward off the nagging "I want another baby" monster. Simply smelling soy formula again worked magically to keep the dreadful beast in its iron cage. The odor triggered sickening memories of the gallons I spit up I swiped off my boy, my back, neck, hair, ears, floor, ceilings, cats etc. during my own Boodle Tator's foster babyhood.
I took up some toddler chasing with my two year old cutie niece, Meg. She's obsessed with how all things work. It took quite a bit of coaxing to lure the girl out of the gargage before testing the gas cans, weedeater, bike tires and gears, tools of all sorts. The grand finale ended with her climbing upon Uncle Jake's Harley and annoucning, "MINE!".
Our children enjoyed the heck out of their cousins, and I recognized my 9 year old niece, Beth, truly loves spending time with my daughter and myself. Beth has entered the developmental stage of loving horses which seems to always precede turning utterly boy crazy.
Our oldest nephew, Jake, cracked us up with his fourteen year old answers.
Me: "What do you like to do all summer?"
Jake: "Talk to my friends all day on computer."
Buck: "What was your homecoming date's name?"
Buck: "Logan is a boy's name. Was your date a boy?"
Buck: "What was her last name?"
Jake: casually "I don't know."
Buck: "Don't know your date's last name. How do you know she wasn't really a boy?"
Buck and I swam our way through the tensions and turmoil of extended family time. We wrestled our way to setting a half day limit at a relatives house bringing to a minimum exposure to the nutso elements such as sharp tongues or skewed opinions. While Bucks family would amuse most any sociologist, if Jerry Springer met me, he'd sink down on one knee and humbly beg me to round up my relatives for his show. The man would get top ratings and at least a year's worth of material from anyone with my genetic make-up. Both our families put the FUN in dysFUNction.
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