Fashion Models:
My Fun Family

My father reminded me of a story recently. A story about my mother.

One day, my mother went to the grocery store. She came home, took a load of groceries up to the forth floor (of our temporary housing - apartment), set the groceries on the floor outside the door of our apartment and then went back to the car. She then brought the second load of groceries back to the third floor and when she came up to the door of our actual apartment, she screamed to her family that someone had stolen her groceries. They ... of course ... were still sitting on the forth floor.

My mother is a hoot. She's always been this way ... not so much scattered brained ... but a little loopy sometimes. We love her for that.

The other day, on the way to my son's football game, my mother road to the game with me. At some point she said, "There's been news reports about that flesh eating virus (I say, "Oh no ... here we go with the new reports" ... in my head) here in San Antonio," and then she pauses and I say, "Uh, huh," because I know what is coming next (she's going to say that it's germ warfare) and then she says, "I think it's germ warfare," in a tone that says "And you know I'm right about this." I say, "I know," (in a tone that says "You are watching too much news"). That discussion drops.

Then ... she proceeds to morf into her alter-ego "Madam Tour Guide". This is where she starts to point out all the new buildings going up, the streets under construction, the buildings being torn down, the store she'd heard about, the neighborhood a friend of hers lives in, the route she used to take to get to the airport, the beauty of flowers in someones yard, the size of a magnificent tree or the restaurant she'd really like to try. The tour goes something like this:

"Would you look at that! I heard they were moving that JCPenny over here. I haven't been on this side of town in along time. There used to be a French restaurant somewhere right around here that Milly and I ate at once; Oh, look ... there it is ... right there ... on the corner. What was the name of that building? (I dunno) I heard they were putting a new spa over here. Now look ... what they're doing there - is that a new mall? I can't believe they are building another mall. What used to be there? (I dunno). Did you see that beautiful flower bed in that yard? I've never seen such beautiful flowers. Is that the way you get to the zoo? (I dunno). What. Is.That? Is that a new school? Now when did that go up? (I dunno).

I swear! This happens every time she gets into the passenger seat of any car. It is like being on a tour bus ride - only there isn't really any information being given that I truly care about or of any historical value to anyone - well, maybe sometimes.

On the upside ... My mother lives in a one story house now. It's really only the four story structures that she has trouble with ;)

And ... fortunate for us San Antonian's, I don't believe it was germ warfare - not this time - just the flesh eating virus - that's all.

(*You know I love ya Mom*)

Today is my Dad's Birthday and I just wanted to say - HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD. Hope you have a good day and we all love you.

Love,

Kellan, Billy, Courtney, Chloe, Billy, Alexis, Rob and family, Cheryl and Danny and family.

My sister left this comment in response to my last post ...

Cheryl said...

Whoa, whoa, whoa- So, how was I to know she'd listen to me. I mean, do you think she's ever listened to me before? I just planted the seed. She's the one who watered them, fed them, gave them plenty of sunshine. LOL, they're GREAT kids and I wouldn't have them any other way.

Okay ... so, maybe it's my brother's fault. Yep ... I'm blaming him.

So ... my father was in for a visit recently. He lives in Florida.

On the last night he was at my house and we were fixing to leave to go to the Boy Scout Fund Raising Spagetti Dinner, standing at the front door - kids running all around and talking way too much, screaming way too much, making obnoxious noises as they do, way too much, and my father says, "I guess I wasn't good about letting all you kids express yourselves when you were little." My brother and sister are standing close by.

I turn to him, as I am grabbing one of my hooligan children by the scruff of the neck and pushing them out the front door, "Why do you say that?"

He steps into the doorway and is nearly trampled to death by another of my kids trying to get past and he says, "I guess that's why you are letting all your kids talk so much, yell so much..."

I glance at my brother and sister and a look passes between us and I say, "Oh ... we're not letting them ... (*screams loudly into the air, "WILL YOU JUST GET INTO THE CAR!*)." My dad laughs and I say, "We just have no control of our kids."

"Oh, is that it?" my father says.

We all step onto the front porch and I turn to lock the front door, "Nope ... I have absolutely no control of ... any of their mouths."

And we go on our way.

On the upside ... I've resigned myself to the fact that my kids are outta control, most of the time. I know they are too loud. I don't have a clue what I did wrong, but I tend to want to blame it on my sister. When my twins were born she told me, "You want to have bright kids, talk to them all the time, let them talk and answer all of their questions." So, I did - I didn't know any better than to listen to her. Yep ... I'm blaming it on her.

My friend Tammy (from Time Flies), left me a comment yesterday that said, "Have I mentioned how I love your Dad, and how he always reads your blog and leaves you a comment? I always like to read his comment too."

This was so nice for Tammy to say and notice and it is true. I have been blogging for just over a year and my dad, who lives in Florida, reads my blog posts nearly every day and often leaves a comment. I have other family members (Hi Mom, Cheryl and Danny) that also read my blog. My sister called me yesterday to talk about Thanksgiving dinner and at the end of our conversation she said, "I've been reading your blog - it's funny." I said, "Gee, thanks."

This is my sister, Cheryl and her husband Danny

This is Cheryl and Rob (my brother) and our mother

For those of you that have seen my dad's comments and wondered about him - this is my dad ...

These last 2 pictures were taken just a couple of weeks ago when he was here in Texas for a visit. He's holding my precious grand-nephew, Braz - my father's first great grandchild.

Thanks, Dad, for taking the time to come by daily to read my posts and thanks for your support - it means a lot to me.

And thanks too, to all those other members of my family and friends (Hi Vic - hope you know we are coming at Christmas to Utah to stay with you - I'll call you soon).

And, while I am at it - thanks to all the rest of you that come by my humble little site to read my stories and leave such sweet comments. I have made so many great friends over this past year - it is unbelievable!! I wake up in the mornings wondering what everyone is up to and it is so fun to be able to just click over to your sites and be welcomed into your lives. It has been such a blessing to get to know all of you and your families and your precious kids and ... count you amongst my group of friends. You guys are simply the BEST!!

We are all so lucky - aren't we?! Lucky to have found this blogging thing! I know I am!

This is my father. Isn't he handsome?

My father was in the Army Veterinary Corp for over 28 years.

He was drafted into the Vietnam War in 1962.

He retired in 1990 as a Brigadier General.

We couldn't be more proud of his career in the Army and his accomplishments in his life!

We love you Dad.

Okay ... so I call my mom yesterday morning. I say, "You should read today's post."

She says, "Why?"

I say, "Cuz it's about you." ("And that way, you can be on your guard - be prepared to defend yourself," I'm really thinking).

She kind of gets excited and says, "Well (in her "it's about time" tone)". And then, because she's now thinking real hard, she says, "What? But ... I don't get the paper." (And in my mind I imagine she has already gone towards the front door to retrieve the Post - when this epiphany hits her).

*Note: It wouldn't matter (duh) if she did get the paper, cuz ... as you all well know ... this was not the sort of post I was speaking of. Not to mention that our local paper doesn't go by the name Post (that's in Washington DC) - we live in Texas - ours goes by the name, The Express News.

This is where I just either stay quiet for a moment - long enough time for her brain to catch up to our actual conversation, or sometimes I just blurt out the obvious problem. This time I just stayed quiet (so as to preserve her pride a while longer).

Then she says, "Ohhhhh, (*mom giggle - drawn out a bit - implies what a ninny she thinks she is*) I thought ..." and I cut her off before she actually has to tell me what she thought (cuz ... I already realized what she thought ... waaaaay back at the uppity "Well.").

I say, "Are you with me now?" and she just laughs, "Ho, Ho, Ho."

Then I say, "Now I have to write about you again tomorrow."

This telephone conversation, that I intended to last - oh say ... 15 seconds - went on waaaay longer (visuals and all) than I ever intended. This happens often.

Sometimes my mother is adamant that it is me ... not making myself clear or talking in a low tone that she can no longer hear (cuz she's got that hearing like dogs do - she now hears in decimals or something). Sometimes, she's right. Sometimes I just ramble the information out there - and hope she gets it. Like I'm throwing a football at her - sometimes she catches the thing and sometimes she is fumbling all over the place ... arms just-a-flappin'-in-the-wind.

This was one of those arm-flappin' moments.

On the upside ... maybe one day I'll become a real writer ... write a real article about how much I love her, how smart she is, what a wonderful mother she is ... and have it published in The (Washington) Post ... for all her friends to read. For now ... she'll have to settle for a little humiliation on the world wide web! Sorry Mom (you could always get a blog of your own and write crap about me).

This is a picture of my sister and I when we were little. It has been blown up and hangs on the wall of our family room.

In the picture, my sister is the prissy one (on the right). The one with the tidy, clean dress and pulled up socks. The one who had a mother that cared about the way she looked (just kidding - but it looks like we aren't even from the same family - like I just wandered up and sat down - look at my sweaty hair - I guess I had been running around.). She was always the proper one. The straight-laced one. She was the apple of our father's eye.

She's still pretty prissy. She's always telling me, "Kellan, you are just too pretty to not take care of your toes."

She's a teacher and well educated. She's made a good life for herself. She is funny and always has a funny story to tell. She can make me laugh like no one else. She is giving and kind. And ... she can spell most any word (this amazes me - being the "spelling-idiot" that I am).

We are opposites, my sister and I - in a lot of ways - just like in the picture. But ... that has not kept us from being friends.

We are not the type of sisters that spend every moment together. We are not the type of sisters that see eye-to-eye on everything. We are not the type of sisters that hug and kiss when we see each other.

But ... I have this picture on the wall of my family room for several reasons:

• I love that it depicts our differences
• I love that ... every time I walk by it ... it makes me smile
• I love being reminded that we were so little ... once
• I love that she's wearing those sunglasses and thinks she's so cool
• I love the looks on our faces
• I love that her hair's perfect and mine is not
• I love that it is of my sister and I
• I love that I get to see it everyday
• I love this picture

I'm lucky to have this picture ....... I'm lucky to have this sister.

Yesterday I was visiting Postcards From the Mothership and found the most wonderful post about DaniGirl's brother. The comment I left on that post was:

I was so touched by this post (and love the picture too) - what a tribute to your bother! I am also close to my brother (we happen to live right next door to each other - long story). This morning at church he was sitting down from me, three people away on the pew. At one point I leaned way over (as he was sort of leaned over) and I stared at him until he finally looked up. He knew I was trying to get his attention and waited until just the right moment to let me see his eyes. When our eyes met - we laughed (in a quiet church way). It was a simple moment - but I loved it. Sometimes I just love that "he" loves me - you know. And that he "gets" me. You are lucky to have this relationship with your brother - I think we are both lucky!

I did love this moment between my brother and I. And the moments that followed when we spent lunch together - his family and mine.

Sometimes I think it is these sort of tiny moments that sustain me. These pure and simple moments. Moments when ... I search out my brother and he smiles at me, laughs with me ... acknowledges me.

This is my brother. He's doing something new with his mustache (a Hulk Hogan thing). We (his family) aren't crazy about this new look. My mom is beside herself; constantly telling him he needs to "trim the thing - keep a neat appearance"; tells him he "looks like those pedophile types" (like all pedophiles have bushy mustaches or goatees). He's had this "growth" for a while now. He's not listening to us.

He used to be such a well polished person - my brother. I don't know exactly why he has turned into a mountain-man, but he seems more than happy in this new phase, so ... I guess we just need to live with it. Surely there are things about our appearances' he would choose to address should we ever be stupid enough to ask him.

And ... the thing in his ear ... that's his new phone (he's very proud of this new phone). My son saw him walking across our yard the other day and he asked my husband, "When did Uncle (insert my brother's name) get a hearing aid?"

My poor brother.

On the upside ... if he really is "headed" for the woods - at least he'll be able to call us to let us know how things are going (like we, "those-that-make-fun-of-him", would be the first people he would call).