Hallelujah everybody say "Cheese!" Merry Christmas from the Fam-uh-lee-ee.

Just a few highlights from our family gathering over Christmas — think of us as “classy trashy,” k?


Cooking in the kitchen with my mother, my grandmother, my sis-in-law, and my daughter:

GiGi (my mom): Susanne, do you need a rubber?

Susanne (14 yrs): Uhhhh

GiGi swears she meant spatula.  Spatula/rubber, easily confused, right?


5:00 a.m., pitch dark, in the Quacker at Nowheresville:

Eric: I just took some Sudafed.  Do you want some?

Pamela: Yes, thanks.

(Eric hands Pamela 4 little pills, which Pamela examines by the light of the iPhone screen before consuming)

Pamela: Honey, are these pink?

Eric: They’re not red?

Pamela: Nooooooo….

Eric:  What are the pink pills in the medicine bag?

Pamela: Well, TWO of them are a full dosage of ‘women’s overnight laxative.”

Eric: SHIT!

Pamela: Yeah, for real. At least you won’t be stopped up on one end. 

And he wasn’t; he carried a roll of TP to good use all day.  But he seemed a little emotional to me.


Before family pictures on Christmas Eve:

Pamela: Let me put some moisturizer on you, Honey.

(Eric presents his face obediently)

Eric:  It burns.

Pamela: You always say that.  Hello, sun screen.

Eric: No, it burns, really.  A lot more than usual.

Pamela (laughing):  Oh no, I forgot to wash the Icy Hot off my hands before I put on your moisturizer.

Eric spends the next 5 minutes scrubbing his face, which was pink and shiny for the pictures, anyway.


As my brother, a Lt. Cnl. in the Marines, was making stuffed jalapenos:

Brother: Eric, I don’t want to make this awkward or anything, but when I’m done making these poppers, can you remind me not to scratch my balls?

Eric: (long pause) Christmas just wouldn’t be Christmas without you, Colonel.

In the interest of brevity, I have limited “the Colonel” stories to one.  Trust me, he’s fodder for a whole Encyclopedia Britanica. 


The perfect song for us; enjoy:

[youtube Y1nqMG3swOc]

And a happy flippin’ New Year, y’all!


p.s. At least we didn’t shoot skeet while drinking Bourbon Hot Toddies this year.  And nobody gave or received a Hooter’s t-shirt.  By past standards, this Christmas was practically boring.

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