Worst Aunt

I'm assuming that when normal people get the opportunity to have nieces or nephews, there is this push to be grander than all the rest.  I'm assuming that normal people want to be the coolest, or the nicest.  They want to be thought of, fondly.  And with smiles.

But not me.  I try to be as miserable as I can.  I like to say horrible things that send small children screaming for their mother or father's knees.

I contributed to many non-applause worthy acts, during my travels.  All of which I am pleased as punch about.

But two of my favorite, go like this:

1)  I was home alone with all 6 kids.  (2 of mine, and 4 of B.B. Chuck and Mother Green Toes )  And Chuck has this wooden toy house.  And the house has 4 different doors on it with 4 different door bells.  It comes with keys. And the kids have to pick the correct key for the correct door.  Well, some dad gum kid locked the keys in one of the doors.

And while I was sitting on a different couch, fiddle-faddling around.   I stuck my smallish sized pinky in the smaller sized hole that was placed in all the doors . . . And I stretched my poor pinky and could actually feel the lock on the inside of the door.

Brilliant idea!  All I needed was a smaller pinky to cram down into the hole to flip the lock!  (And then I would be known as the grandest aunt around.  Restoring loved toys to their rightful players.)

First I grabbed Murnice's pinky.  But her knuckle was too large.  And then I grabbed my 5 year old niece's pinky, Mildred.  Her pinky slipped in like salted butter.  And she felt the lock.  But dreadfully so, her pinky was too stubby to flip the lock.

But then, Mildred started screaming.  And hollering.  "MY PINKY!!!!  HELP!!  OW!! I CAN'T GET!!!!! OWWW!!"

Mildred's pinky was stuck in the wooden house.  And it was just me. And 6 kids.

And I kinda got a little excited.  Wondering if I should just smash the wooden house on the floor.  Hopefully sending it into a million splinters and releasing poor Mildred's pinky.  But Mildred's pinky was attached. . . .  I thought about the chainsaw that hopefully B.B. Chuck had some where.  And then I thought about poor Mildred's pinky getting the blood flow stopped up.  And the swollen factor.  And the screams and yelps of pain.

And then nurse mode took over pig-rat-worst-aunt mode.  And I had a semi-normal thought.  Lets freeze the finger with some cold water and dump a gallon of soap - and hope that something would slippy-slide out. 

Well, a few more roars, and Mildred's pinky was restored to herself.  And then I smiled nicely at her.  And patted her head 7 times.  And thanked the good Lord that no splinters, nor chainsaws were involved.

2)  Something I've picked up over the years, has been to sing before a meal.  Versus praying.  It's lovely.  It allows participation from everyone.  And with singing, it allows for great amounts of energy to be released.

I thought it would be nice to share singing with B.B. Chuck's family.  And since nobody had a better song to sing, - the Doxology it was.  Now with the Doxology, there are some splendid opportunities to really display one's vocal ranges. And I don't know about you - but when I sing that song . . . I. can. not. help. - but to open my mouth as wide and as long as fleshly possible, flutter my eye lashes while rolling my eyes back into my head, and to belt those particular notes that are begging to reverberate off the closest cathedrals stain glassed windows.  Sending them into a monumental, what used to be - of glass shards.

Yes, and I did all of that.  While the poor baby, who was just laid down to sleep - so the poor mother could actually eat dinner, roared awake.

And then I paid my pittance of hiding in the darken corner with the snuffling of horror baby.  So that Mother Green Toes could eat in peace, and with vigor.  Just like she was planning.  Before I showcased my true, great talent.


The end.