Babies, Babies Everywhere

I felt weird, sitting there, holding a little person that was actually related to me.
In recent months, I had practically become a baby expert. My days were filled with work, more work, and babies. Where I'd been awkward and fumbly with the first baby, I was now relaxed and confident. I no longer took offense when the tiny human in my arms started to wail. As it turns out, crying is something that babies do frequently, often indifferent to the giant cradling them. Instead of apologizing and looking helplessly towards the closest parental unit (either that baby's or my own), I now knew that the fastest way to quiet an unhappy baby was to bounce and sway. Bounce and sway. Oh, and it also never hurts to pat them gently on the back because, it would seem, that babies are almost always passing gas in one form or another. My cousin watched on approvingly for the first few minutes of my interaction with her daughter and then she turned her attention entirely towards my grandparents and mother and proceeded to catch up on a year's worth of news.
It is still weird to think of my cousin as a mother, even after holding undeniable proof.
The entire week following our visit, my grandmother dropped what she considered to be subtle hints about how lovely it would be if I started to produce progeny of my own.
"Grandma," I sighed, "are you not satisfied with one great-grandchild for the time being? I mean, if you really want me to, I can go out and take care of business right now - but wouldn't you prefer I wait until I have both a dependable significant other and a study job? And would you really want your next great-grandchild's father to be the kind of man who does not question having unprotected sex with a complete stranger?"
I will not relate her response to you word-for-word, Internet, but what it amounted to was that she wanted another baby now.



My blind great-grandmother once accused my deaf grandfather of being some sort of pervert as, while left alone in her company, he made all sorts of funny noises. What she probably failed to consider was that, due to her blindness, she is more aware of the noises around her than most and that, due to his deafness, my grandfather doesn't ever actually know what kind of noises he's making because, as it turns out, the deafness leaves him unable to hear.

When friends buy new homes, I like to help them with making the transition into their new residence by sending them anonymous letters that tell them I am watching them and/or want to do them bodily harm.
Sure, it's not exactly a traditional house warming gift, but it is unique.
Nothing says "sorry I couldn't make your house warming in Owen Sound" like a threatening letter written hastily on a piece of paper torn out of a notebook.

The fireworks were loud and bright. So bright, in fact, that I briefly worried that they would trigger a seizure in someone in the vicinity.
The four of us had purchased two boxes of pizza and driven my car out into a field to watch the display. We would soon find ourselves under a rain of fire, quite literally, as burning ash pelted my vehicle from above. Luckily, I had the sunroof closed.
"I hope the ash doesn't hit any of those tents pitched behind us," I remarked absently.
"If I were you," came a voice from the backseat, "I'd be more concerned about the tent pitched in the seat beside you."

My grandfather has declared his intentions to die within the next two months. Always the optimist, my grandfather.
Having had open heart surgery during the 80's, he spent most of the 90's insistently telling anyone who would listen about his certainty that the AIDs virus was slowly ravaging his system. So slowly, in fact, that not only were doctors unable to find traces of it in his body during the years immediately following his surgery, but to this very day they have yet locate the evidently well-hidden virus.

"Thank you," I said, as my supervisor held the first set of doors open for me. "Here," I added - because I am so funny, as we approached the automatic sliding door, "let me get this one for you."


Things Learned While Cleaning Toilets

It would seem there is an unwritten universal law that, if you are going to have an intense bowel movement in a public setting, you must do so in the handicapped stall. Perhaps this is because the handicapped stall offers more space to maneuver, or perhaps it is because each handicapped stall offers a metal bar, securely fastened to the wall, which one can grip and bear down on while dropping an atomic sized bomb.