What I Did During My Easter Break... by Lois Lane
My mom loves her dog more than she ever loved any of her kids. Not only did she bring her Golden Retriever to my house, 80 miles away, so “...the dog wouldn’t be alone for Easter, in a new house she isn’t quite familiar with yet...” she brought snacks and water, bottled water, for the dog because “It’s just such a long way for her.”
Puh-lease! Let me tell you about my mother and one of our family road trips so you can compare and contrast her treatment toward her children versus her treatment to that damn dog. It was the summer of 1979, Dad took a week off of work for a big family vacation. Any time we all piled into Dad’s Vega (a two-door hatchback with room enough for three, yes three passengers) it was an adventure. And anytime we got out of Dad’s Vega, it was like the circus coming to town, and we were the clowns popping out.
We were headed for Minocqua, Wisconsin an eight, yes eight hour drive, in a three passenger car. (Notice my sidebar, the about me section, you see the size of this family? Yeah, well, I’ll let you work the math.)
I was sure we invented the phrase, “Are we there yet?” during that trip because it was asked every ten miles. Not only did my mother, that horrible woman, not bring snacks and or water for any of us kids, her flesh and blood, she wouldn't even let any of us have a sip of the soda she brought for herself. And, even though we were like Connect Four checkers stacked upon each other's bladders, seated in that Vega, she ignored our pleas to pullover for a bathroom break.
Have you made your assessment about my mother yet? Good, now back to that four-legged sister of mine, Ginger. When my mom got out of the car, the whole family was running toward her for holiday hugs and kisses. But do you think for one second she took the welcome from her children and grandchildren? Hell no!
Instead, she bent down happily petting her dog and started in with the baby talk, "Such a good girl you are. Yes you are. Did you like the car ride baby? You ready to go potty? Oh, such a long ride for my girl. Who's Mommy's girl?"
Won't you please excuse me whilst I vomit?
What else I learned about my mom is that she is easy to please. Okay, major exaggeration, but I did please her by making old fashioned macaroni and cheese like her mother used to make. I didn't tell her it was on the Easter menu because I wanted to surprise her, and I think anyone over the age of six, who is totally excited about mac and cheese, is easy to please, to an extent of course.
My sister Mary also seemed pleased with the food. She has this weird little happy humming sound she makes while she eats. It’s a tune I’m pretty sure she made up but it’s the sound she makes as yummy food goes into her mouth. If Mary isn’t humming happily while she eats, you can pretty much bet, she isn’t enjoying her meal. I never really thought I would like a hummer, (Do I need to say pun intended?) however, I can't say this wasn't a great compliment from my oldest sister as she stuffed Gertrude, Aloysius, Feodora and Algernon, down her throat. (See "What's In A Name?" below if you are wondering what the hell that last sentence is about.)
My sister Anita was the queen of helpful. Not only did she bring a couple of dishes, she also washed some and in my book, that’s the gift that keeps on giving. She was the first to arrive and the first to offer a hand in the kitchen. She didn't care that my son got her son all muddy when they took their "aunt" Ginger for a walk in the woods. She didn't care when my daughter put glitter glue in her daughter's hair. In fact, I don't think she even raised one fuss about Mr. Lane hovering over and maybe even hitting on her husband, Mr. Anita. She gets a gold star from me.
Oh, you want to hear about my sister Angie, the bad seed? Why? You doubt that I kicked her ass don’t you? Okay, I'll tell you about her in the next installment, which I'll post by 3 p.m. CST today. No whining, "Lois!" either. I mean, it's not exactly a cliffhanger. It's just stooopid Ang. Besides, this already has run on to two pages and trust me, what I did to Angie is yet another long story.