Thanks!
The black side bars on iPhone video makes me want to stab my eyes out. Speaking of stabbing, half of the Saturday morning crowd wanted to do just that when my niece ordered wiener for breakfast.
I would like to point out this is not a learned behavior. I may be a bad influence when it comes to drinking and cursing, but sex is off the table. And floor. And bed.
I digress.
The point? She didn’t learn about wiener from me. I’m a vegan.
Last night while reading a book to my niece, tears started rolling down my cheeks. She looked at me like I’d lost my mind. I tried to explain the story was especially poignant for me, but it’s incredibly difficult to express to a child that I’m so obsessed with finding perfection that I often forget to find happiness. So I did what I do best, I illustrated the point with a drinking example.
“It’s like a mint julep Hannah. I’ve always wanted one, but haven’t.”
“Why?”
“You can drink a mint julep anywhere, but in my head it has to be perfect. I need to be in Savannah, Georgia on a porch swing with someone I love.”
“Aunt Sarah, your head is wrong and kinda weird.”
Ouch. Who needs therapy when you have an insightful niece?
Last year my nephew, Carter, mastered the art of ‘your mom’ jokes. It was a little rough at first, but he eventually caught on. This year it’s his sister, Hannah’s, turn. We started last night.
“Hannah you’re a pug licker.”
“Oh.”
“Come on, Hannah, what do you say?”
“Thank you.”
“NO! You’re supposed to say your mom is a pug licker.”
“Well that’s just ridiculous. No one licks pugs and I was being polite.”
“Hannah, you don’t really have to lick pugs. It’s a hypothetical.”
“Grandma said you’re not allowed to teach me those anymore.”
“Well Grandma is fired. If I don’t teach you how to make dirty jokes and play the hypothetical game who will?”
“Your mom.”
DAMMIT. The six-year-old wins again.
Someday I’m going to cherish the extra time I’ve been spending with my niece and nephew, but currently I’m rolling my eyes and laughing at them a lot.
“Aunt Sarah your puppy reminds me of a boy.”
“She’s a girl.”
“I know that, duh. I said she REMINDS me of a boy.”
“OK, why does she remind you of a boy?”
“She sleeps all the time and brings slugs into the house.”
“Hannah, which boys do that?”
“All of them.”
“Have you been hanging out with my high school ex-boyfriends?”
“No. I don’t even know what an ex boyfriend is.”
“It’s the boys you don’t ever marry.”
“Oh, well I want a LOT of ex boyfriends.”
I don’t think she has anything to worry about. With her sassy personality I suspect she’ll have a lifetime supply of ex-boyfriends… just like her auntie.
Last night Hannah asked if we could lie on my bed and listen to music together. I really wanted to drink wine and watch crap TV, but how do you say no to such a sweet, innocent request?
Um, you don’t.
After she played “You Belong With Me” by Taylor Swift for the nine millionth time she started analyzing the lyrics.
“Aunt Sarah, this song is totally about us!”
“Um, how so?”
“You wear short skirts and I wear t-shirts. You wear high heels and I wear sneakers.”
“Hannah you think my skirts are too short? Even when I’m wearing tights with them?”
“I’m six years old, woman, I don’t know.”
“Stop calling me woman.”
“Well then stop talking about other stuff. I only want to talk about how this song is about us. Aunt Sarah, it’s like Taylor Swift and I are the same person!”
“Well that’s gross. Your brother thinks Taylor Swift is hot, so you’re saying he thinks you’re hot? Hannah this isn’t Kentucky.”
“Aunt Sarah, sometimes I don’t even understand you. Or want to.”
My niece, Hannah, is not made of sugar and spice, and everything nice. Nope. She is made of spunk and spice… thank god.
As far as I’m concerned it’s my job, as an auntie, to lie and torture my niece and nephew. Lying is a wholesome family activity. What? It was either that or teaching them how to play beer pong.
A few months ago my niece, Hannah, asked me how old I was. I lied and said I was 21-years-old. I’d forgotten all about it until Hannah called me at work last Friday in a fit that her brother, Carter, told her I was really 35-years-old.
I don’t know why he’s out to get me. First he calls me a cougar and now this?
Hannah’s defense was that I never lie to her… um, yeah.
I calmed her down and explained to her that her brother was the big, fat liar and that I was, indeed, 21-years-old.
“But Aunt Sarah, you’re older than my daddy.”
“Sweetie it’s all about the emotional age. Your daddy is much, much older than I am. Don’t I look younger than your daddy?”
“Yes.”
Whew. It’s like she knew all future Christmas and birthday presents were riding on that one answer. Carter later decided I must be younger than his dad because I was much smaller.
I’m pretending he called me skinny.
P.S. I’m totally lying on the beer pong thing, by the way. I suck way too much at the game to attempt to teach anyone.
My niece, Hannah, sent me the sweetest picture in the mail, which is proudly displayed on my refrigerator.
There’s only one small thing I find worrisome. Do you see that question mark?
Hannah questions my niceness. I can’t really blame her. I tease the little girl about things like drinking urine. I don’t want her to grow up thinking I don’t love her. I do love her. Lots. Enough that I’d rather spend money on taking her to Starbucks, not taking her to therapy.
That said, I’ve decided it might be time to start teasing her less and concentrating on being nicer to her, which may have something to do with the fact the kid gives the best damn Christmas presents ever.
Last week I took my nephew and two nieces to see “Alice in Wonderland.” I love spending time with them, but taking three small children to a movie wasn’t my best idea.
Kids are sort of a pain in the ass. They, like, need stuff.
Popcorn
Soda
Candy
Help in the bathroom
I know, right? What six-year-old needs help in the bathroom. Um, the ones who don’t want to be molested by strangers apparently.
I think I saw about 20 minutes of the movie.
Just when I was considering ripping my uterus out and throwing it against the movie screen my niece Hannah looks at me with big eyes and said, “Aunt Sarah I am so glad today is Thursday. I’ve been excited about seeing you all week. This is probably the best day of my life.”
Kids. What assholes.
They really know how to tug the heartstrings.
“Hannah, every day with you is the best day of my life.”
“I KNOW, RIGHT?”
There’s nothing cuter than a child who mimics my annoying speech patterns.
This morning I received an email containing my beloved niece Hannah’s prayer from last night:
Bless the people who have colds and swine flu that they can be healthy and strong. Thank you that we can have a bed to keep us comfy and wonderful. Thank you that I can be a big girl and Carter be a big boy. Thank you that I won’t be exhausted tomorrow. Thank you that we can be beautiful tomorrow. Thank you that I can be fancy. Thank you that the mean kids will go away and not distract me. Thank you that we can go to the places we imagine. Amen.
It’s amazing how similar our prayers are. Here is my prayer from last night:
Bless all sick people with the good sense to stay away from me. Thanks in advance for sending me a new plush mattress and bedding set. Please never let me get fat. Thank you for creating Ambien and red wine. Thank you for occasionally making me feel beautiful. Thank you for populating the earth with fancy people, so that I have something to aspire to. Thank you for giving my nerds the ability to use nerd humor to provide enough distraction that I don’t crumble in a giant ball of anxiety. I will thank you if you send my bank account a giant wad of cash so I can go to all the places I imagine myself in. Amen.
If only I could harness her innocence and use it for my own life.