Wednesday Night Crazy Club

I've talked before about how Uncle Tim comes over on Wednesday nights, and how great it always is to have a break, blahbidyblah. Well, he had to miss last Wednesday because he caught that damn bird flu. So when he called me this Tuesday night, he said he was feeling much better and while not completely cured, he was pretty confident that he wouldn't give us back our bird flu or anything.

When I talked to him the next day, I told him we'd seem him that afternoon, and to take an Airborne before he came over. Now in retrospect this was dumb, as he wouldn't protect us from anything by taking it, he'd simply boost his own immunity. So I'm dumb, but he's dumber. To wit:

Uncle Tim: "Okay, I'll take it, but those things are disgusting. I took it and my head almost popped off. I almost had to pull over in my car because I was foaming at the mouth so bad."

Me: "Wait, wait, you ATE it?"

Uncle Tim: "Well, yeah. you should have seen me, it's a good thing I wasn't mistaken for a rabid lunatic--I could have been shot."

Me: "YOU AREN'T SUPPOSED TO EAT THEM, you are supposed to drop them in water and take them like Alka-Seltzer!" (Laughs hysterically.)

Uncle Old Yeller: "How was I supposed to know?"

Me: "Uh, read directions, much?" (Continue to laugh hysterically, nearly pee ownself.)

So we established what time he'd be over, and I made fun of him a little more. Awesome. I've not mentioned before that at least my mom, and usually my stepdad Paul join us for or after dinner on Wednesday nights, too. This all started when Johnny was teeny, and T had to work. They all came over to "help." (LOOK, T-- YOU GET A MENTION! T, T, T. ) It persists because it's fun. Well, it's mostly fun. I admit there are moments when I'm jealous that lucky T gets to be at WORK, and I have to hang out with my weirdo family. (T! AGAIN!!)

There are also moments when my mom and I butt heads. Okay, for real? It'd be easier to count the moments when we don't butt heads, because there are fewer of those. My mom is a nurse, and she just knows too much about superbugs, and viruses, medicines and mortality to relax sometimes. This has gotten much less upsetting than it was when John was teeny, because I'm more relaxed, and because when you are constantly waiting for the sky to fall and it never does? Well, you begin to realize that it just might not.

Uncle Old Yeller LOVES when my mom and I get into it. He thinks it is HILARIOUS. Almost as hilarious as, oh, EATING AN AIRBORNE, I guess. So, it was very funny to him when my mom and I had our requisite 500th fight of the evening--this time about the happypouch.

Mom: "Is it FDA approved?"

Me: "Well, no. But it isn't made of beef OR beta-blockers, so I think we're okay."

Mom: "Does it have the Good Housekeeping seal of approval?"

Me: "Are you serious right now? Is there such a thing?"

Mom: "Well, do you think his feet will fall asleep? I mean it looks a little tight around the legs."

Me: "AAAAAARGGGGG." (Contemplate killing ownself. Or just forcibly removing others from home.)

Mom: (Backpedaling, now.) "It's great! I love it."

Meanwhile, Uncle Old Yeller and Paul are peanut gallery-ing it up, talking about how Johnny's "nuts" are getting squeezed, and how "his boys need a house." Also, Uncle Old Yeller keeps saying, "UNCLE PAUL, EVERYBODY!" Which is apparently the punchline of some dumb-assed Dominos commercial.

Then later, after the happypouch dust settles and Johnny is safely in bed, Uncle Old Yeller has to call Jonathan on his cell phone to see whether he's going out with him the next night or going with me to see Brokeback Mountain.

UOY: "SO, ARE WE ON FOR TOMORROW NIGHT JON?"

Me: "SSSSShhh, Johnny is sleeping"

UOY: "OOPS, SORRY, I mean, oops sorry."

Paul: (Laughing in background.)

UOY: "UNCLE PAUL, EVERYBODY!"

Me: "SSSSSSHHHHH." (Lips fall off from force of shush.)

Mom: "Kel, are you sure that pouch won't hurt his little legs?"

Me: "ARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH."

Everyone else: "SSSSSSHHHHH."

When everybody finally leaves on Wednesday nights, I really enjoy my alone time. No one to shush or fight with, no one crying or peeing on me. None of this is to say that I wouldn't have them all over every night, because I would. They are wonderful, and we are a very close, very lucky bunch of individuals. We might drive each other crazy every once in a while, but at the end of the day, we all know how rare it is to be related to such kind and supportive people who love unconditionally and without reservation... and oh whatever. Uncle Old Yeller ATE an AIRBORNE, dude. That is HILARIOUS.