What Has Wings But Can't Fly?

I don’t have much experience with children nor am I looking for any. When I was a child I preferred the company of adults for the most part and was perfectly happy playing alone. Kids kind of freak me out. This has created an interesting problem since my sister has done double duty in the procreation department by having four. The oldest is a girl the rest are boys, they range in age from twelve to three.

My niece I can relate to, she likes boys I like boys, she likes clothes I like clothes, she’s pretty, well you see where I am going here. With the boys I am at a loss I they like Godzilla and getting dirty and playing catch, I once squealed at the site of cute purse. The boys and I have come to a mutual understanding, I will keep giving them things if the don’t irritate me. Although my oldest nephew is fascinated by the fact I live alone and once said that I was smarter than this father, despite the fact his father could buy and sell my ass with the blink of an eye. You know he may be my new favorite.

I haven’t seen them since April mostly because their mother makes me angry but that is a story for another time. Recently we had gathered at my sister’s house for dinner to celebrate my brother-in-law’s birthday. The menu was spareribs and hotdogs to be served on the back deck (that is larger than my apartment) overlooking the pool and with a view of both the ocean and Boston depending on the direction you are looking.

Diner was nice the conversation was light I almost thought I was with someone else’s family, but the over cooked food assured me I was in the right place.

After a plate of spareribs my teeth ached from the pieces of meet caught in them, I excused myself to use find some dental floss. I had to go to three different bathrooms (they have four) before I found what I was looking for in the master bath, which is just half the size of my apartment and in a constant state of disarray. My sister has a cleaning lady yet the house is always a mess. Worse then the mess there is a maxi-pad sitting on the on the sink a big one with wings. I ignored it.

While I was getting the ribs out of my teeth my three-year-old nephew popped his head into the bathroom. Being the youngest he is perpetually happy. He always has a giggly smile on his face that makes you want to pick up and tickle him till he pukes. I fight this urge not only because being puked on doesn’t make for a good time but also I had an uncle that did the same to me, that is until I “accidentally” kicked in the face with a hiking boot on.

“What cha doooin’?”

“I’m tryin’ ta get the food outah my teeth.” My family causes me to speak in dialect rather than my finely tuned cosmopolitan accent.

“Why?”

“’Cause it’s bothahin’ me.”

“Ya tryin’ ta get the fooood outah ya teeth?”

“Yeah.” He walks from the door into the bathroom.

“Why? ‘Cause it’s boterin’ you?”

“Yup.” He picks up the pad.

“Wat’s this?” My sister and I were raised in a Catholic home and as most Catholic children he we taught to loath our bodies and not to discuss any function they perform. My sister is striking out a brave new world with her children by openly discussing things that as an adult I still don’t want to hear. I froze. His eyes were looking up at me for answer and I was at a loss. My first reaction was to call for back up, to pass, no punt, yes defiantly punt.

“Is it a pull up?” Crisis averted.

“Yeah that’s what it is”

“Looks kinda small, is if a pull up fo’ a baby?” He started to unfold it then looked with wide eyes as if he just unraveled one of the great mysteries of life.

“Yup ya right, ‘come on let’s go back down stayis” He picks up the pad as I nudge him to door.

“No let’s leave that he-ah.”

“But I wana show Mummy.”

“I think she knows it’s there.”