Favorite People

Everyone should have a quirky relative.  Life would be boring otherwise.  Lucky for me, I have 2 and they are a packaged deal:  my Aunt Vicki and Uncle Steve.  These crazy cats play a major role in most of my happiest childhood memories.

I can clearly remember "driving" Uncle Steve's new fishing boat.  It was parked in their driveway.  I was behind the wheel, wind whipping through my hair and Uncle Steve, the good sport that he is, had his fishing pole idling over the side, with a plastic Jaws shark attached at the end.

There was also the time that Uncle Steve made a "house" for me out of a large cardboard box.  Windows were cut, a door was made and my shower was Uncle Steve squirting me with a water gun.

Aunt Vicki was never reluctant to spoil me.  I wanted to take a bath in a big bowl, like I had seen on a cartoon.  Sure, why not.  I wanted to have a tea party with her good China.  Okay.  I wanted to be the waitress and take the guests' orders.  Alright.  I wanted to show off another dance that I had choreographed.  Aunt Vicki would yell, "Now introduuuucing....the amazing, the talented, Brooke!" and I would run out from my hiding spot in the laundry room.  We would do this all afternoon long.

And then there are some more generalized memories.  Like their honeysuckle bush in the front yard.  Uncle Steve taught me how to suck the nectar out.  Or waiting on their watermelons to ripen each summer.  On camping trips, hiking through the woods with Uncle Steve, we were always on the look out for the best walking sticks.  At the beach, Uncle Steve would fly a kite attached to a fishing pole.  It would go waaaay high.  We would scribble silly messages on a napkin and send it up to the kite.  Aunt Vicki taught me to play Crazy 8's.  Bet she regrets that.

But as these things go, I got older (read: a sassy, unappreciative teenager) and saw my relatives less.  I went to college, got married, moved away from home and started a career.  Life happened.  It wasn't until I moved to Houston, walking my dogs early one spring morning, that I caught the smell of honeysuckle in bloom.  I was immediately transported back to their front porch, circa 1984.  And I smiled and I reminisced.  What a lovely memory.

We do our best these days to stay in touch.  We see each other a few times a year.  And it's always so good to hug them and tell them I love them.  Because I do.  They are some of my favorite people.

Me & Aunt Vicki, Christmas Eve 2010

Oh, I get it

I used to watch the evening news with passing disinterest.  Specifically, stories on child abuse were horrific, but far removed from my life.  Accounts of a missing child, were just another "bless them little hearts" moment.  But in the past few months, I have gone from sympathetic to empathetic.  A complete visceral reaction consumes me when I see these same abhorrent news clips.  It's something about seeing my baby in the face of all of those other children that brings it home.  I sometimes cry and sometimes I say a little prayer.  I always hug my precious baby and vow to protect her.

I want AnnaB to grow up never experiencing anything negative.  I know she will, but a mom can hope, right?  There's a Pink song that shuffles through my Ipod that makes me sing aloud.  It's an anthem of sorts for AnnaB.  The chorus goes:
Pretty pretty please!
Don't you ever ever feel
Like you're less than perfect
Pretty pretty please!
If you ever feel like you're nothing, you're perfect to me.

My wish is for AnnaB to grow up strong.  Strong in character and strong in confidence.  Because she is perfect.  And if I do my job right, she too will some day understand all of this.

Watch me outgrow my rugby bear! Annabelle, 4 months old, July 1, 2012.