I also remember what your scabs taste like. My therapist will be billing you for that later.

I can hardly remember how you laughed, but I remember the taste of your blood like it is still hot on the tip of my tongue. I watch you bleed over and over and over and over again in my dreams, and I can't make it stop, ever. I try; I keep trying to get enough cherry juice stains on my shirt that they will believe me when I tell them I drank it, and you will finally have one quiet night in your life. 

I can hardly remember how you laughed, but I can see you under the surface of your childrens' smiling faces, like they are reel-to-reel films of the life we used to dream about people living when we hid in the back of that tiny, dark closet covered in the salty paste of sheet after sheet of the Publisher's Clearing House stamps we pretended tasted like candy with each lick. 

I can hardly remember how you laughed, but I remember the way your hair smelled, and what your voice sounded like whispered through a hole in a wall, and I remember precisely what if felt like to be safe under your left arm that was just enough bigger than me that I knew there was one place on earth I would always be okay.

I remember everything about you. I remember things you can't, and won't, and shouldn't. I remember mostly that you are the finest human I have ever met in this life, and that I am the luckiest person in the world, beccause I have gotten to take this entrie journey with you, save the 16 months you had without me. 

That just means you turn 40 first. Neener neener.

Happy birthday, Eddie. You were the best present our parents ever gave me. 

I love you. Like, a lot and stuff, yo.

It's Not Me, It's You. Well, Maybe A Little Me.

My best Canadian friend Tanis is a new momma.  To a five year old.  And she didn't gain a pound.  I hate that bitch.  I was a new momma to a zero day old, and I gained 105 pounds.  Life, she isn't fair.

A bunch of people are coming together to help Tanis celebrate her very long awaited, very well deserved new bundle of Redneck with an internet Redneck Shower, which I'm told consists of buckets, Coors Light and maxi-pads.  I don't even want to know.

The idea is that we share with Tanis, and the world, how we too strive to be a good Redneck Mommy, how we aspire to be even an iota of the Redneck that Tanis is.

Yeah, right.


That house she's in?  CAME ON WHEELS.  There ain't no way nevah I can top that, and I wouldn't even try.  Tanis is the Queen Redneck, and no one could ever take her place.  In fact, I'm fairly sure that's why love her as much as I do.  I mean, really, I'm certainly no Redneck, but good lordy, I'm drowning in them.  I am a Redneck magnet.

There's my Uncle Lee, who had his prison sentence deferred by 10 hours so he could attend his niece's, my cousin's, funeral.  At her trailer.  Where we played horseshoes and drank Bud and everyone wore Lee Dungarees with their ass-cracks hanging out.  Where I showed up in a suit.  Also where Uncle Lee staggered over to me at one point and say, "Heyyyyyy, baby.  You sure are looking purdy today."  And I said, "Thanks, UNCLE Lee."  And he countered with, "Wanna come sit over here by me?" *eyebrow waggle*  To which I replied, ""Uncle Lee, I am your NIECE.  You know, Ed's daughter, Ed RIGHT OVER THERE?" *points to father, who isn't saving me one little bit*  And he says, "Oh, yeah, Ed's little girl.  You sure did grow up niiiiiiice."  And that's when he grabbed my thigh, and that's when I decided it was time to go home, and that's when my father fell. over. laughing.

There's my husband, who taught his children to pull his finger before he taught them to speak.

There's my mother's entire ancestry.  I once spent a lovely week in Georgia with my aunt Deb, and she showed me the book of their family lineage.  Yes, there is a published book, and yes, it shows plain as day how that family tree does not branch at all for 4 generations.

There's my grandmother, who pulled a loaf of bread out of her sister's trash can, screamed at her sister for wasting "...a perfectly good loaf of bread so long as you're not too lazy to tear the mold off."  And then made me a sandwich.

There's my Uncle Jimmy, who had the roof removed from his house so the chickens could have more freedom.

There's my Uncle Smitty, who has no running water, only a well, and when you go out to the well with him, he tells you the story about how he lost is frontal skullplate in "the war" and then, when you're least expecting it, grabs your hand and shove it onto his brain.  Oh, how he laughs and laughs.

There's my father, who videotaped me masturbating when I was 6 months old and has shown that video to every boy I've ever brought home.

There's my father again, who will tell you today if you asked him that is best kiss was his first kiss, and her name was Janet.  Janet is his cousin.

There's my grandfather, who held a gun pointed at my father and told him to marry my mother, because they'd had a date the night before and she woke up nauseous from a hangover, and therefore was pregnant.  Even though they didn't have sex.

There's my mother, who on that first date wore tight red jeans that had a hole in the knee, so she painted her kneecap with red nail polish.

There's my father, again, who called me when I was 15 to tell me that if I met a boy about 8 years older than me named Eric, I was under no circumstances to sleep with him.  Because he was most likely my brother.

There's my sister in law, who is currently investing all of her money in firearms because she's decided that's the only safe investment in this unstable economy.

There's my brother who will not. stop. telling me. how hot I am.  Really.  Ewww.  But kind of giggle.

There's my mother in law who, I found out years later, only served my children powered milk when they were little.  Milk is sooo 1930's.

There's my childhood best friend Rainy Day, which is enough all on it's own, except that she found out right before her mother passed away that her cousin was actually her brother.

There's Rainy Day's family, who we grew up with and loved like our own family, only to find out years later that we are actually related.  I've made out with no less than two members of her family.

Which brings me to me.  Maybe it's true what they say.  Maybe you can take the girl out of the trailer park, but never get the trailer park out of the girl.  My husband offers you this as proof.

In all fairness, Oregon makes everyone wet.

So, Tanis, happy Redneck Mommy's Day.  You're clearly not alone.  We're all here to lend you Jameson when his teeth come in, make you Kraft Macaroni and Cheese when you need a casserole, and to help you fill beer cans up with rice if he starts asking for a rattle.

6 going on Lawyer

Dear 1of3 version 2.0,

I talked to you on the phone today and nothing anyone will ever tell me will convince me that you are not 10 years old. When I asked you how old you were, you said 6. When I said no way, and that I was sure you were starting college, you said, "No Auntie, I just started Kindergarten." No giggle, no nothing. Just a smug little 'You poor, stupid woman'.

You have always been smarter and witter and funnier than a kid has a right to. You remind me of your dad when he was that little, just without the angst. I love you for that; for showing me what my brother should have been, what he was inside if just someone had ever been nice to him. You made him a daddy, and that was what he was born to do, and so I owe you one, kid. You got a dad, I got my brother back. Thanks.

I don't have a lot to say to you today, on your 6th birthday, mostly because I don't think even you can read at this level just yet, and I'm betting you're way too busy playing with your Transformers or torturing your little brother to read your old Auntie's blog, but just know this, little man...

You auntie loves you. So bad. I don't care at all that I've seen you three whole times in your life, and I don't give a dingo's kidneys that you wouldn't know it was me if I bumped into you at the mall. 'Cause kid, you're my family. You look like us and talk like us and walk like us and geek the hell out just like we do.

I am so proud that my kids have a cousin like you.

And maybe, just maybe, if you promise not to EVER show anyone this god awful picture of me,

maybe I'll tell you some really juicy stories about your dad someday. I love you little man. Happy birthday.