Family Night
Why is it that I am the only person who can actually get my niece to let me brush her hair? I mean, the kid screams bloody murder if most people breathe in the vicinity of her hair. But I just brushed it for about fifteen minutes, then French-braided it without a peep from her. We are hoping that I can teach my nephew (her father) to braid her hair. I figure that if he can paint her toenails without making her feet look like someone took a razorblade to them, he can handle the hair. (And this is so sweet: he lets her paint his toenails. The women in his family always could get him to do anything.)
Then there’s the baby-squirrel noise. The one that no baby squirrel makes unless someone throws it into a lawn mower. I’m really tired of the baby-squirrel noise.
Also, I think my niece is pregnant. And no, I’m not talking about the one who needs her hair brushed and makes baby-squirrel-in-agony noises. (That’s my great-niece, actually. One of theme, at least. The niece I’m talking about now is the squirrel-screamer’s aunt.) She hasn’t told anyone yet, but my secret superpower is knowing when people are pregnant. I knew the last time right after she got pregnant. As in the week they had their test, I looked at her and told my sister (her other aunt, not her momma) that I thought she was pregnant. My sister made fun of me. At least, she made fun of me for a couple of months. Anyway, I think my niece is pregnant again. She drove me to the airport when I went to Dallas, and I sort of thought so then, but I wasn’t ready to bank on it. But after a family dinner, I think we have a new addition on the way.
Family gatherings are always fun. Side from the screaming and the hair-brushing and predicting pregnancies and the ubiquitous eating, there’s the general strangeness of my family. My sisters inevitably do some kind of song-and-dance. One of them can sing. One of them can dance. Neither of them can do both. It’s sort of really sad comedy.
Then we hear my brother-in-law’s latest story. Tonight it was about his mentally retarded family. First a little background. He’s the guardian for the woman. She lives with two mentally retarded men. She’s a great big huge woman. Her boyfriend is kind of skinny and acts like someone’s grandpa. Their friend is a really short, skinny guy. The three of them are inseparable. (This is important later.)
A few years back, my B-I-L couldn’t figure out why this woman never paid her rent. He knew that she got disability, and that it should cover her bills. He couldn’t figure out what the problem was. Until he investigated it. Her mother and sister were cashing her disability check, giving her twenty-five dollars a week, and spending the rest of the money on drugs. So my B-I-L went to court for guardianship of his tenant. And he won.
Now, the woman has a savings account. She pays all of her bills on time (my B-I-L gets them ready, then the three amigos pile into my B-I-L’s truck and drive around to pay the local bills and drop the rest off at the post office). He takes them grocery shopping, too. She’s bought two televisions, a microwave, a cordless phone, and has cable. Every couple of years B-I-L moves them to a different house because they like a little variety. Monday, Wednesday and Friday the three of them meet my B-I-L at his office when it opens. On Monday and Wednesday, he gives her twenty-five dollars. On Friday, he gives her seventy-five dollars. The beginning of each month, she gets a little extra money to buy her chewing tobacco. Also, once a month, B-I-L collects rent from the two guys for the woman. The social workers love my B-I-L.
Anyway, he’s taking them shopping for a bed. A bed. Right now, although they have two bedrooms and two beds, they all sleep in one bed together. Get your minds out of the gutter. The best TV is in the bedroom. They watch TV a lot. The three of them are watching TV and falling asleep in a double bed. The B-I-L is taking them shopping for a king-size bed.
Obviously, my family is easily entertained, because this, and watching two toddlers play, (and fight a little, and scream like baby squirrels being thrown into a lawn mower) was our evening. Ooops, I forgot. The other toddler can howl like a coyote.