Gummi Bears.

We spent a lot of time with my cousin Jay growing up.  A lot.  So much so that our relationship feels more like siblings than cousins.  I was the oldest {and therefore the boss!} then came my sister Lyndsey, then Jay. 

We used to force him to be the dog a lot when we were playing house.  We also used to try to put barrettes in his hair because it freaked his dad out.  He played his fair share of Barbies.  To be fair, we also played He Man and Star Wars with him until his action figures got stolen out of my Meme’s Pacer when she was at the grocery store.

Such a loving family.

Once, when I was in the third grade, Jay was over at our house.  He is almost 5 years younger than me, so he was probably four at the time?  We were playing and getting into trouble as we always did.  Lyndsey and I got together and hatched a plan.

That is the way it worked.  There were always two of the three of us ganging up on the other one.  We just rotated who was on the outs with the other two.  We’re equal opportunity, some times it was based on age, sometimes gender, sometimes level of bossiness.  Ahem.

You’re cool, so I’m going to let you in on the plan.  Convince Jay that we were descended from Gummi Bears.  Not the candy variety, but the cartoon variety.

These guys.

I always wanted to be Sunni Gummi, she was such a rockstar.  Look at that blonde hair.  Lyndsey was totally a Gruffi.  He’s the angry one in the green hat.

So we tried our best to talk him into believing us.  He was holding out though, he just knew we weren’t descended from gummi bears so we had to step it up a notch.

We had to prove it.

We mixed up some Gummiberry Juice {also known as several packets of Smarties crushed up mixed with kool-aid for a straight up sugar rush} and made him chug it.

Then we stuck him in a dark closet, told him to close his eyes as we jostled him around and told him that we were riding in a quick tunnel. 

Ridiculous?  Of course.  But he was four and you can mess with four year olds pretty easily.  After all that sugar and our fake quick tunnel ride, he was convinced.  I think I also conned my mom into confirming it.

We are pretty much the best cousins ever, right?

Poodle.

 

Name:  Monty Poodle {named after Montgomery Burns}

Likes:  Car rides, dog bones, cat food, food dropped on the floor, sitting in Finn’s chair, bouncing through snow, and belly rubs

Dislikes:  Late breakfasts, Finn calling me Scooby, Tate pulling on my fur, and my people remembering to put the cat food up when they leave

How to Choose a Valentine.

Choose a Valentine who is funny.

Choose a Valentine who is sweet.

Choose a Valentine who is kind.

Choose a Valentine who buys you sparkly things.

Choose a Valentine who is handsome.

Choose a Valentine who is loving.

Choose a Valentine who is a good kisser.

Choose a Valentine who, after completely inadvertently ruining your first batch of cupcakes, helps you wash all the jars, & make a completely new batch so your four year old isn’t bummed that he doesn’t have a treat for his school friends.  At 10 pm.  The night before Valentine’s Day.

Davester, I’m super glad you’re my Valentine. 

Consider this your card.

Whitney. And Lyndsey is Probably Going to Hell.

I was 9 when the Whitney Houston album came out.  It was the first tape I bought with my own money…

Hey, at least I didn’t say record… 

I took it to the YMCA after school program and showed all my friends.  It was orange and she wore a white dress on the front.  Like every other little girl my age, I stood in front of the mirror dancing and belting out How Will I Know and The Greatest Love of All until my mom wanted to remove the D batteries from my boom box just to get it to stop.

I was very cool.  But obviously, you know this already. 

She was larger than life.  Her voice, unparalleled.  Whitney was IT for me and so many others my age.  She was the one we looked up to, the one we wanted to be, insomuch as a suburban white girl could be a black, Grammy award winning, mega superstar.  She was a good girl with a huge voice.

My sister Lyndsey {who knows my Whitney love from back in the day} hasn’t stopped responding to me in Whitney lyrics since it happened… I am pretty sure this is a clear indication that she, in fact, is going to hell.

I don’t want to remember the drugs or the voice squandered and lost to them. Because really? What a damn shame.

I’ll just say this.  She will be missed.