Wednesday, March 18, 2009

History repeats itself

Little Elvis and I are currently in Mississippi, hanging with my family while Bob lives the life of a bachelor. So far, he's dealt with an extremely leaky faucet and snagged $80 of groceries for $16 and change. AND I had most of the coupons with me. Pretty impressive, no?

While hanging out with my grandparents and aunts and uncles on my dad's side of the family one night, I learned about and remembered some very interesting parallels in my family history.

Styling with creams that shouldn't be styled with:

I told my grandmother about all the hijinx my little sweet boy has been getting into, including the Vaseline while I showered last week. She gave me a look and said, "I remember when a certain little girl put face cream all over my hair."

That would be me. And I should have been old enough to know better (maybe 6?) Little Elvis was only 2, and all he did was get the Vaseline on his hands and sleeper.

I, on the other hand, decided to style my grandmother's hair while she dozed on the couch. My grandmother is the type who gets her hair done once a week. She will pick it and spray it each morning.

She was fine with me picking her hair, and it must have felt so good that she dozed off. She woke up with a Kleenex on her hair and lots of goop on top and under the tissue paper, and all in her hair. She wanted to know what it was, and I remember proudly telling her I "styled" it for her. Poor Granny. I'm not sure if she ever let me near her hair after that.

Flour, flour everywhere

While reminiscing about 2-year-old little boy shenanigans, my grandmother told us about the time my dad and uncle (twins) got into a 5 pound bag of flour. She said they were being quiet and she knew that wasn't good. By the time she got into the kitchen, the air was completely white, as was everything in the kitchen. The only things not white, were my dad and uncle's eyes. They must have teared up with the flour, because she said they had dough in their eyelashes. She didn't know why she didn't take a picture, because they had a camera. But I can kind of picture that scene and it makes me smile.

My dad isn't the only one in the family with a flour fascination. When I was younger, I loved raw flour. My mom's mom baked fresh biscuits everyday, and had a drawer full of flour. Everytime we went to visit, I would run to the kitchen for a fingerfull of flour, even though I knew I wasn't supposed to -- again, I was old enough to know better.

I remember one time, quietly shoveling in as much flour as I could while my mom and my grandmother were in the other room. They came back to the kitchen, but I managed to slam the drawer shut just in time.

They asked me if I had gotten into the flour, and I said, "No." Little did I know that my face was covered in white powder.

I have nothing to complain about when Little Elvis deliberately does stuff I tell him not to, do I?


Blogger Mighty Morphin' Mama said...

Aw! Great stories, how fun to hear about when you and your folks were small.

4:32 PM  
Blogger Kristi said...

Ha! Those stories are great. Seems mischevious behavior runs in your family. ;)

4:11 PM  
Blogger Jeni said...

So funny, and if history is any indication than our kiddo is likely to be accident prone. His father apparently was. Glad your grandma has a sense of humor :)

5:49 PM  

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