The Anniversary & The Fridge

This weekend my family threw my grandparent's a 60th Anniversary party. Seriously, 60 years. That is nearly 20 times longer than Husband and I have been married.

As far as I am concerned, that makes them freaking saints... or effing nuts, one or the other.

When you consider the fact that they had NINE kids, in TEN years... I'd say it's the latter; they are effing nuts. Who the hell wants NINE kids?? I am pretty sure that is uterus abuse.

One of the oldest children, my Aunt Sally, passed away before her 1st birthday, so my mom was actually raised as one of eight. Which doesn't excuse the uterus abuse, or sound any easier to me. That is still EIGHT booties to wipe, EIGHT college tuitions, EIGHT cars, EIGHT weddings... I am getting light headed just thinking about it.

The party began with a family picture, of 39 people... we were missing two. I know. We are like rabbits I think, breeders I tell ya. My grandparents kinda sat comatose on the couch while the chaos that they created went on around them.

People came out of the woodwork to help celebrate. There were old neighbors, colleagues, cousins, even a foreign exchange student from the early 70's. It was really a great testament to the life my grandparents have lived together.

Nineteen grandchildren, plus their spouses, and friends got completely hammered while the "adults," (uhh, the oldest grandchild is 30, by all means, an "adult") mingled and chatted up the "olden days".

The lone great grandchild (Lovebug himself), ran amuck while his pregnant waddling mother (me), chased him around the house holding an assortment of yummy pops, balloons, and trucks.

We dodged the caterer and countless old people... I even once plowed into my other grandmother while juggling one too many things and not paying attention, lucky for me she has good balance.

All around us people were watching slideshows of the legacy my grandparents had created. It was a good place to be, surrounded by family and love. I was content to just sit back, look at ancient photos, and watch the drinking games begin at 3 pm.

Not Lovebug; he was not content to sit back. He was bored, and headed for his all time favorite place to play when he is in need of a pick-me-up. The fridge. What can I say, he is his mother's son.

It wasn't long before Lovebug had drawn an audience. He holed himself up in there taking condiments off the door and putting them everywhere they don't belong. My cousins were pushing and shoving, craning their necks to see the little guy put on his show. He just babbled to himself and shook his booty to Bob Marley on the stereo, strumming the Hershey's syrup like a guitar.

I watched quietly from the other side of the room, this whole fridge game is not new to me. What was new, was the crowd of bystanders, laughing and cheering Lovebug on.

It was in that moment that I realized why my grandparents had nine kids. Why there were nineteen grandchildren, and 1.5 great-grandchildren. We are a family of baby lovers, chaos embracers, and "the more the merrier's" (it's my blog, if I say it's a word, it's a word).

Look at Lovebug, catching on already. Moving over and making room for my mom, Hunny, to help him re-arrange the Soy Sauce and the Mustard.

Not even two years old, and already embracing the family motto, "There is always room for one more."

Except in my uterus, I will take single babies only please... and definitely not nine of them, thank you.

1 comment :

  1. Wow, I'm jealous! 9 kids?!? I am dying to abuse my uterus just a little bit more... I have 5. Gotta at least have one more!


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