Move Over Modern Family

If only my family and friends would let me tell the truth, I am pretty sure we could have our own TV show.  But sadly, they are all so mean and have recently begun to refuse to allow me to use them as fodder for my own fun and amusement in my writing.  For some reason, they seem to think that the things I write about are humiliating.

Selfish?  I should say so!

Here is the recent exchange between me and my sister Lucy as we sat talking about my daughter, CeCe's debutante dress.  (If this was not the EXACT conversation, it was a close as I could remember it...)

Lucy (looking  at a picture of CeCe in her dress):  "Hey, I bet it was hard to go to the bathroom in that.
Me: "Yea.  You should have seen her yelling at me to hurry up and finish undoing all the buttons on the back so she could pee."
Lucy: "I just thought of something brilliant.  We could invent Debutante Depends.  The girls could wear them under their dresses and then drink as much as they want and not worry about having to pee." 
Me: "We could even get my Bedazzler and put monograms and decorations on them and stuff."
Lucy:  "Yea, and then in their later years as they are reliving their glory days of being a Deb they will be looking through their memory box and pull out the good old Debutante Depends and remember that special evening."
Me: " I bet you could even do some for Brides and maybe those Toddlers in Tiaras and shit.   We could make a lot of money."
Lucy: "Hey! Don't steal that for your blog.  You are always taking the good ideas I have and putting them in your blog."
Me:  "Well yea, but that's because you won't put them in yours."
Lucy:  "That's because I don't have a Blog."
Me: "See? So that's why I put it in mine.  Well, that and because it makes me look funnier."
Lucy: "I don't want other people to know things about me. That's why I don't put all that stuff like you do on Facebook.  Don't you ever get embarassed telling everyone all that stupid stuff? I am not like you.  I like my privacy."
Me: "Then why do you care if I steal all your good ideas and put them in my Blog and pretend like they are mine?"
Lucy: "Because I want people to know that I am the one that is funny.  If you were really funny, you would be the one who comes up with Debutante Depends."
Me: "But no one would even know you were funny because you wouldn't put it on Facebook or in your Blog and stuff because you would be all like "OHHH.  I'm soooo private. I don't want anyone to know about me." 
Lucy: "That's right.  I don't like people all up in my bidness."
Me: "So that is why I am doing you a favor.  I am stealing all your stuff and making sure that the world gets exposed to people.   I mean seriously.  People think some of the stupidist shit our family does is really funny..."
Lucy: "But wait.  It's not always you who is so clever.  You steal my good stuff sometimes. "
Me:  "Yea, but you don't want anyone to know you might be talking about something as UNCLASSY as Debutante Depends, so you won't even put it on your Facebook or your non-existent Blog or Twitter, so I have to."
Lucy:  "That's right.   I don't like people to know we talk about stuff like Debutantes peeing in diapers.  That makes us look bad.  I mean we should really have more important things to talk about than how hard it is to pee in a big white, puffy, long dress." 
Me:  "Even though it is really humorous?"
Lucy:  " It is funny, but I just don't want people to know I say things like that.  So don't put that in your Blog."
Me:  "Ok,  I won't."

I'm Sorry. It's all my fault.

Why is it that no matter what happens it’s my fault? Here’s what happened tonight. Kent took Tye to buy a new flat screen TV for the third floor. They spent like 4 hours at the store picking them out (that’s another whole story in itself) and they came home and got in the elevator to take the TV and set it up. They had been up there for a while when I decided to go and see what they were up to.

First thing when I got up there, Tye says “Mom this is so gross, we just found a roach,” like I have something to do with that? Then Kent pipes in “if we are going to make this space useable, you have a lot of stuff to get rid of.” I look around. Yes, there is a lot of junk up there, but half of it is HIS! I guess that is my fault too.

So then I go downstairs to get them a cord they needed and when I got back to get in the elevator it was broken. I tried for about 10 minutes to fix it and even got shocked from flipping that little switch thing! All the while Kent and Tye are yelling instructions down the elevator shaft at me. Like it is my fault the thing is broken?

Picture me a the first floor elevator screaming up the shaft and Kent and Tye on the third floor yelling down at me. The conversation went like this:
Me: Honey. The elevator is broken. It keeps going up and down.
Kent: What do you mean? Did you try punching another button?
Me: No, I can’t. It’s broken, I can’t get in.
Kent: Why not?
Me: Because it is broken, you d&%$a&*!
Tye: What did you do to it?
Me: Ummm nothing? I just went down to get you your cord and when I tried to get back in it started doing this.

It kind of went on like this for a few minutes until Kent tells me to turn it off at the switch and how to do it. I did exactly as he told me. Then he told me to turn it back on. All that happened was I got a big shock and it just started doing the same thing again.
Kent: Reenie, what the *&#@ did you do? I told you to turn it off and then turn it back on.
Me: I did.
Tye: Then why isn’t it working?

Well the reason it isn’t working is I guess is the reason it broke in the first place - because it was my fault! More instructions and cusswords were yelled down the elevator shaft at me until I finally said I was going up to the second floor to use the emergency exit stairs in our closet.

On my way up the stairs our phone starts ringing. I answer the phone it is Tye on the other end.
Tye: What is taking you so long, Mom?
Me: Umm, I had to stop and answer the phone? Let me hang up so I can get you out.
First I have to clear off a bunch of stuff off the floor because I have not finished finding space for all our stuff and I have kind of been shoving stuff in that closet. Of course, Kent is quick to point that out. Now he is yelling at me through the emergency stairs.
Kent: I bet you can’t even get the stairs down there is so much junk in there.
Me: Well it’s my closet and I wasn’t planning on rescuing anyone from the third floor so I’m sorry I did not have everything perfectly arranged like my OCD husband has his closet.
Kent: Hurry up.

So I pull that string thing and try to get those stairs to come down. All I can do is get them down about 15 inches and then it is just stuck.
Me: Kent, this is stuck, come and push it down.
Tye: Come on Mom! You are just weak. Pull it.
Kent: No. It is not stuck.
Me: Yes it is.
Kent: OMG. What did you do to the stairs?
Me: Umm, nothing? I just tried to pull them down to let you guys out and they are stuck.
Kent: No they are not.
Me: Yes . They. Are.
Tye: Well pull harder.
Me: I AM
Kent: What did you do?
Me: You are so rude. I’m just going to leave you up there.

About this time, I take a few minutes to post their predicament on Facebook and contemplate calling my brother-in-law, Phil, who lives just down the street to come over and help, but they are so rude I decide not to.

While I am posting on Facebook, Winston gets home from the game.
Me: Winston, come up here and help me! Your Dad and Tye are stuck on the third floor and the elevator is broken.
Winston: No it’s not. You just don’t know how to use it.
Me: Well then you try.
Winston: (after turning back on the power and discovering that indeed it is broken) What did you do to it? It wasn’t broken this afternoon.
Me: Look, just come upstairs and help me get the stairs down. I’ll call the elevator guy in the morning.
Winston: OMG, Mom! Can’t you even get the stairs down by yourself?

It was about here that the phone began ringing again and Tye is calling to ask me what is taking so long. I tell him we are coming right up and Winston will help me. Next Winston announces he can’t come right away because he has to go to the bathroom. During the next five minutes while he was doing his business, I continued to try and help.
Me: Kent, these stairs are broken.
Kent: No they are not.
Me: Yes they are, see? I am pulling this thing and it is stuck.
Kent: (peering through the attic door) All you have to do is pull it to the side. It’s not broken.
Me: I AM and it is too broken.
Kent: It’s because your closet is too messy it won’t come down. There’s no room for it.
Me: It is not! *@#! I haven’t even pulled them out more than 15 inches so it’s not the stuff on the floor of the closet, it is not even close to it and it won’t come down.
Kent: Just pull harder.
Me: $*#!@!! Winston! Get in here now. I don’t care whether you are finished or not.

So…Winston comes in and guess what? My six foot, one inch, 190 pound football player can’t get the stairs down either!
Winston: Dad! It’s broken.
Kent: It is not! All you have to do is pull it. Your Mom wasn’t doing it right.
Winston: Guess what Dad? I can’t do it either.
Kent: Yes, you can. Just pull it. Don’t be an idiot.

I immediately take offense to this because I feel that he is implying that I am an idiot because I can’t get it open and that Winston will surely be able to pull them down because, unlike his mother, it is not his fault that the stairs won’t work. It is his idiot mother’s fault. There’s a little more cussing going on (well actually a lot more) and Winston finally gets the stairs all the way down. And guess what? Tye and Kent stay up there for about another HOUR before they come down. What’s up with that? What was all the rush?

The kicker is that when Kent and Tye finally got down the stairs, Kent turns to me and says, “Do you think the elevator is broken because you did not push the buttons all the way in or something? It worked for us.”

I don’t even bother to answer, because I am pretty sure nothing good will come from continuing this conversation…