Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Chris Rock Made Me Do It!

I sat here the other night watching a rerun of ‘Full House,’ and I tried to picture our family having some of the heart to heart conversations that took place within their immaculate home. I came to the realization that no matter where we live or how many people live under our roof, we ain’t ever gonna be that kind of family. We’re more like the forbidden love children of Archie Bunker and Roseanne Connor. We might look normal on the surface, but if you stick around for dinner, you're gonna need your waders on.

In our home, once you push through the piles of shoes in the foy-ay and the mountains of laundry on the couch, you’ll find our family. Three redneck dwarf ninjas, one daddy, one momma, and a perverted goldfish named Hoosker-Doos. (Sorry, but he swims over that bubble strip a little too often for my comfort.)

We’re one of those families with fur and dander allergies, so we like to keep the animals outside. We’ve been blessed with a number of transient friends, though:  the identical triplet tree frogs named Freddie, Fredward, and Fredmore; the box turtle named Teddy; and the little rat snake my better half affectionately named “Good God Almighty!” I thought he looked more like a Ralph, but apparently it was meant to be because he’d named him before I ever laid eyes on him.

Then there are the invisible family members.

At some point, after watching the movie Grown Ups, a celebrity moved into our home without our permission. Our 4-year-old-daughter came downstairs one afternoon and said “Momma, I been playin with my fwiend, Chwis Wock.” 

I had to stop and reflect for a minute. I guess this meant that Invisible Bob had moved on, and I felt the need to mourn for him. He’d been the perfect invisible child:  never made a mess, stayed quiet, and never started fights.  

“So, Emma, where did you meet Chris Rock?”

“Momma, he goes to my school. He’s fwom Awabama and he wikes to do stuff with me and my fwiends, and he’s gonna be my best fwiend foh evah!”

Well, ain’t that grand? I’ve got an invisible, 40-something year old man hanging out with my daughter. As soon as he entered our lives, the road got a little bumpy. Nothing major, just the little things she would say.

“Momma, my fwiend Chwis Wock said if Weagan eats to me one more time, he’s gonna chop him up in wittle pieces and put him in a hole.”

In case you don’t know what being “eaten to” is, it’s this annoying thing Rae-Rae does where he looks at her and starts chewing like a hungry zombie that's just run up on Precious . I just love when he does it. Emzilla’s such a calm child anyway. (Forgive me, Father, I’m lyin’ again.) When Rae-Rae eats to her, you’ve got exactly two seconds to get your fingers in your ears before she transforms to Fran Drescher on a helium high.

Chris Rock needs more butt whoopins than Invisible Bob ever dreamed of. He drags her toys out everywhere, projects his burps and farts onto other people, knocks her legs out from under her, and once convinced her it was illegal to brush her teeth on a school night.

“Momma, Chwis Wock said the ‘lees will put me to da jail if I bwush my teef on a school night.” Chris, honey, I love ya, but I'll put your bojangles in the blender if you make bedtime any more difficult than it already is. Now, if you'll behave, you can stay till first grade.

But Chris Rock isn’t our only invisible family member. Now I’m not much of an animal person unless it’s with barbecue sauce or gravy, but there is one dog that has wormed his way into my heart and my house. He, too, is invisible, and we call him Barf.

(Ain't he purty?!)

Barf is off the hook! He pees in the toilet, and is so proud of it, he leaves it there for the next person to see. But I think the poor fella has Irritable Bowel Syndrome going by the smells that come out of him. But unless you've been watching 'The Wall' on repeat, you're probably like me:  amazed that an invisible canine can muster up such colonic catastrophes.

Barf’s been known to drag chips out of the pantry and leave a trail across the kitchen floor. 

He has eaten homework, shoved stuff under the boys’ beds, and even managed to pee on the toilet seats.

 He really is the perfect pet:  doesn't have to be fed and watered, doesn't shed, and has never had an accident on the carpet. 

There’s just something about having Barf around, though…it’s like a homemade quilt on a cold, rainy afternoon.I think it’s because deep down in my heart, I know he bears a strong resemblance to Leroy, crossed eyes and all. Bless his invisible heart.

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