Archives for category: Family

The other day I was at my parent’s house eating lunch. I had run out of fruit and so I asked my mom if I could have an orange. She got very offended that I even asked her to have it.

“I’m not just going to take your food without asking Mom.”

“You’re my daughter. You can have any food you want in this house. WITHOUT ASKING.”

“Oh really? Even all of those Swiss Cake Rolls you used to hide when we were kids?”

“Yes even the hidden food. Look, I was just trying to protect you kids from unhealthy foods back then.”

“Oh really? So the Oatmeal Cream Pies were ok, but not the Swiss Cake Rolls?”

“Well, it at least had the word ‘oatmeal’ in its name.”

 Conclusion? I’m sticking with my mom on this one. Oatmeal=grain, Cream=dairy, and I’m sure there’s an egg for protein in there somewhere.

Now that’s a diet I can stick with.

*Update-My mom thinks that I think she is a bad mother. She was/is not a bad mother for letting me eat Oatmeal Creme Pies as a child. She is a WONDERFUL, perfect mother who doesn’t understand sarcasm. hehe

Everyone, I don’t want you to be too intimidated by this picture.

I know, I know that’s three scary looking fellas there. My husband, his cousin, and my future brother-in-law.

They look straight from the street if you ask me.

Now let’s zoom out shall we?

And when I say “the street” obviously I mean Sesame Street. We’ve got Oscar the Grouch, Batman, and Michelangelo the Ninja Turtle. I know I’d run away from them screaming. Not because I was scared, no, more like because I was totally weirded out.

Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street?

On Thursday night January 6th we got a call saying that my husband’s grandmother was having a heart attack.  A couple of hours later she had passed from this world to her reward in Heaven. It was a shocking and gut-wrenching tragedy to say the least.

This picture of her and my husband was taken at Christmas. She would probably faint if she knew I was putting her picture on my blog for the world to see. But she needs to be seen and talked about because she was a beautiful woman inside and out. She cared for people more than any person I know. She always put family and friends before her own needs. I will always think of her as my own grandma because she was a grandma to me when I had none.  

There’s a million things that could be said about her but the things she would want you to know about herself is that she loved her family and would do anything (and she did!) for them. She was the true matriarch of my husband’s family.

It’s hard to say goodbye to someone, but memories of her will live on in our hearts, minds and the way the family reflects her attitude of ‘family first.’ She will be loved and remembered for the rest of our lives.

Love you grandma!

Not figuratively drowning in balls, literally drowning in them. Today lets talk about childhood experiences that shaped the phobias you now have as an adult. This particular story centers around me being traumatized for life by a ball pit at a certain establishment known as Showbiz Pizza.

Anyone remember this place? Obviously now most (if not all) are Chuck-E-Cheese’s. This place always scared me as a child. That gorilla up there? He may tickle the ivories like no other gorilla I’ve seen but he ruined me of ever liking gorillas. And keyboards. He made me cry on several occasions. And I do realize he was just an animatronic gorilla, but still, as a five-year old it was distressing.

Back to the story at hand. I was a wee child, maybe four or five at the time. We were celebrating one of my brother’s birthdays at the fine establishment mentioned above. There I was in the ball pit minding my own business with probably three of four hundred other kids in there with me. [I can’t even imagine the germs that were floating around in there.] All of the sudden I got pushed and trampled and somehow ended up under layers and layers of plastic balls. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and that this was in fact the end of my life. I vaguely remember putting my hand up through the balls to try to signal for help. I’m sure I was crying and screaming for help. Then out of no where a random stranger pulled me out to safety and into my mother’s arms.

It was a harrowing experience. I’m sure I could have been the first victim of a ball pit drowning if that man wasn’t there to save me. Am I being dramatic? Of course I am. Without a shadow of a doubt I believe that every phobia I have as an adult leads back to this one event. I think it also ties in to my hatred of vegetables.

Anytime my father is let out in a public setting things are always interesting. I say “let out” because we as a family try to prevent situations where he can interact with other human beings. Note that all of this is said with a loving, sarcastic tone. People always laugh at him–I’m pretty sure it’s at him, not with him.

We went yesterday to get new cell phones. He’s never had a cell phone in his life. Also he wanted to be home by a certain time to watch a football game.  All of these factors added up to trouble.

Let me back up by giving you a brief overview of him in public. When we were young we would always go to this same Mexican restaurant. At Mexican restaurants in Oklahoma you get complimentary tortillas, chips, salsa, and queso before the meal. (I’m aware they probably do this in other states too, I’m just stating this to set-up the story.) We ran out of tortillas and hadn’t seen our waiter for a while. Keep in mind we were out of tortillas. He had had enough got up, went to the kitchen, and started raising a ruckus about us being out of nachos. “We’re out of nachos! We need more nachos at our table!!!” I’m pretty sure the whole kitchen just stared at him like, “What the heck is he talking about?” And the rest of the family was sitting at the table, heads bowed, laughing, humiliated and wondering why my dad needed more nachos.

Fast forward to yesterday, in the matter of an hour (which in his mind was taking entirely too long) he had assumed a woman was ‘strutting’ in front of him because as he put it she wanted him to flirt with her. He was loudly making fun of an older lady who was standing about five feet away from him–he forgets that not everyone has as bad of hearing as he does. And our poor salesman. He harassed him every five minutes–“Are we done yet? You know I’m missing kick-off right?” I’m sure there’s several things that happened that I was totally unaware of. I’ve come to realize it’s better just to ignore him.

With all that being said, I love him to pieces and I wouldn’t trade him for the world.

Mainly because I’m just like him.

This weekend went much more smoothly than last weekend’s Olive Garden incident.  It was full of eating, laughing, passing time in a car trying to make shapes out of clouds (which every cloud I saw looked like a dragon to me. I’m not sure what that says about me or my psyche.), and did I mention eating?

The topper to this marvelously busy weekend was finding this guy.

Meet Franklin Turtleo Roosevelt. [Note: He was named by my husband. Isn’t he so creative?] He was found by two very brave dogs in the backyard. And by brave I mean they didn’t know what it was and were actually scared of it.

Although the brown dog wanted more than anything to take a little nibble at him, we wouldn’t let her.

See the yearning in her eyes? She wanted that turtle badly.

I should give a little back story to my family and turtles.  When we were kids my mom or dad would load up the kids almost every Saturday morning and we would go turtle hunting. The word hunting is used pretty loosely here because obviously we would capture them as pets, not to eat.  We had a variety of turtles every summer that we would keep in a flower garden next to our front door. The names ranged from Bertha to Eye Embolger (Don’t ask; I don’t know what it means) and my favorite Laimbeer. 

Laimbeer was named after the basketball great Bill Laimbeer.  It was my brothers being ironic (as ironic as grade school boys can be) and naming the smallest turtle after a giant basketball player. Laimbeer was given to me by force from my mom.  Since I was only 5 or so I could never find a turtle on my own. My brothers gave me Laimbeer only for me to turn around and lose it. How can you lose a turtle, you may be asking.  They can fly when they need to! That’s how. 

Fast Forward to present day…

I gave F.T.R. to my brother to make up for me losing Laimbeer. It’s the least I could do. Plus he was a bitter turtle and he also smelled.

This was our prom picture. Although he didn’t give me a corsage, he gave me memories to last a lifetime. And he also peed on my hand.

Goodbye forever, F.T.R.

I have an uncle. Well, I have several uncles but this is my mom’s only brother. Her only sibling in fact.  He, his wife, and his two gorgeous daughter’s are coming to visit next week all the way from Knoxville, TN.  It should be quite an adventure. And by adventure I mean we’ll probably go eat at Chili’s or something special like that. Woo!

I love my Uncle Phil. He is funny with a capital F. Let me give you a rundown of a couple of instances that he almost traumatized me for life.

Situation 1: The Happiest Place On Earth: Disneyworld (circa 90’s)

We were taking a tram from our parking spot to the park or something to that effect.  I was minding my own business reading a brochure. (side note: this trip was all about the brochures for me. I had a brochure for literally every attraction within Florida’s state line) The brochure slipped out of my hand and flew out of the tram.

“OH way to go Angela. Way to ruin the whole trip,” my uncle (who was well into his adulthood at this point) said as it slipped out of my fingers.

And there I go. Buried my head into whoever was sitting next to me bawling my eyes out.

Situation 2: Branson, MO Pizza Hut (Circa: early 90’s)

My mom, brother, and me met my uncle and aunt (whom he had not married too long before that) at Silver Dollar City for a good ole’ fashion time.  We stopped to eat at a Pizza Hut for dinner one night. As we were eating my hand knocked over a glass of water onto my aunt.  (sidenote: in my elementary school years I probably knocked over a beverage of some sort every time we went out to eat.)

“Oh, do you need a towel with that shower,” my uncle exclaimed to my aunt as she was politely wiping up the spilled water off of her lap.

ZOOM. I ran off to the bathroom bawling. Granted it was a one-person bathroom so I had to wait in line to go cry my eyes out. 

I won’t even go into the story of him forcing us to stay in a KOA cabin. Long story short–after one night we were in a hotel room.

Don’t think that these stories aren’t brought up every time I see him. And it will be no different this time around. I just hope he hasn’t scarred his daughters for life, like he did me.