During Christmas break my freshman year of college, I rode a bus from our North Alabama town to Augusta, Georgia. Who knew a trip of 220 miles would entail eighty-eight hours, seventeen propositions from stoned high school boys, soldiers on leave, and old men with pint bottles in brown bags, and an unexpected sprint between Atlanta’s Trailways and Greyhound terminals lugging my hot pink Samsonite that certain of my relatives would love to have today as “vintage?”
But I was on a mission, so no travel annoyances were too great. My sister was pregnant with twins who were due ANY MINUTE.
Anyway, that’s what I told myself. The doctors weren’t so sure, but what the hell did they know? They’d gone from saying two babies to four babies to one baby to two babies (you know, there was a time we didn’t have ultrasounds to show us everything going on inside our bodies). Since I’d been forced to go to a piano lesson the afternoon nephew Daniel was being born, and nephew Josh was born in a foreign country called New Jersey, I was going to BE THERE when the twins were born.
Allegedly I was in Augusta to help my sister. I’m not sure what that was supposed to mean. I could divert Josh, wash dishes, and help with other household tasks, but mostly helping meant asking my sister if she was in labor yet. I’m sure that was the best part of HER Christmas. Or maybe it was when I talked her into letting me make chocolate pudding for the sole purpose of getting a photo op with Josh.
Then there was the night we were playing cards at the kitchen table and I began shrieking because I saw a mouse. My brother-in-law Wayne (the one who sacrificed himself on the altar of tuna salad sandwiches) actually had a history with the Cochrane women and mice and went in noble pursuit of the little rodent with the vacuum cleaner. Events went something like this:
Me: There he goes! Get him! Get him!
Debby: Wake up Josh and I’ll get you.
Wayne: DAMMIT!
Me: He ran inside the cabinet! Get him!
[Wayne pokes inside the cabinet with the vacuum cleaner hose.]
Debby: Are you trying to clean him or kill him?
Wayne: SHIT!
Me: Are you in labor yet?
The mouse escaped unharmed. Debby didn’t go into labor. A few days later, all of Josh’s grandparents and my boyfriend arrived to celebrate Christmas with us. Somebody got this toilet seat, providing my mother a chance to pose:
Note the drum under the tree. Josh is now a brilliant blues drummer, but back then, he was also happy to get some wheels:
And I got no babies before I had to go back home and get ready for my return to Tuscaloosa. Those wretched twins weren’t born until January 14–but their delayed arrival was the ONLY time they ever disappointed me.
Me with Sarah and Gina when they were the age I was when they were born.
That is one snazzy set of wheels that would definitely be called vintage now!
(A toilet seat that says Crimson Tide? That’s all I’m gonna say.) 😉
Thank you for your discretion!
Josh is a yankee? Cool.
Born in Asbury Park, home of the Stone Pony, where all the greats played–Josh had no choice but to be a musician.
My God … you’ve always needed Dash . i like your past stories … sweet funny … everything Christmas should be, thanks for sharing.
Thank YOU, for reading and commenting. Yes, the mouse and rat stories go back a long way.
I thought about doing this, then I remembered the Christian family motto “It ain’t Christmas till somebody cries …”
and now for a big old helping of fondue … why should my doggie eat pumpkin
Pumpkin helps him if he has diarrhea and if he’s constipated. The pure pumpkin, though, not the version with sugar and seasoning added for pie filling. You can usually find it on the baking aisle in the grocery store.
excellent ! Thank you!
You take after your mother.
So they tell me. I wish I’d gotten her build, but I got my father’s mother’s.
The pudding pic is great. 🙂
Thanks. You can’t go wrong with chocolate pudding in a paper cup and no utensils.
That’s so heartwarming . . . a lovely “family” Chrismtas story.
Thanks!