I love being your mom, sometimes I think I should spanked you more and laughed less when I did it!!! (Inside joke). It’s been quite a ride and I’m so glad I’m still in the bus! I am one darn Happy Mother!
Prompted by your new, non-gaybed bliss, I am scrutinizing my bed acquisition memories & have come to the startling, icky realization that both my childhood beds were inherited from dead or elderly family members. 😳 In other ghost-related bedroom furniture acquisition tales, the wooden handmade box-inside-another-box that my brother & I used as our toy box throughout our childhoods, we later learned was originally the dresser-top baby crib made by our Papa for our dead Uncle Eddie, who tragically died ten days after he was born. Sorry Baby Uncle Eddie, we didn't know! 😬
For some reason this reminds me of one summer in my teens when I visited my Granny & Papa & I had forgotten to pack pajamas. Granny to the rescue, handed me a set of men's old fashioned pajamas, that I assumed were Papa's, which would be kinda weird to wear, but whatever. ("We are at the mercy of our elders & ancestors at all times, but especially when we are in their presence," I surmised to myself.) I was tall, Papa was short, so I expected the pajamas to barely fit, but they fit me fine. Granny was pleased as punch to divulge that these pajamas had belonged to a very tall friend of theirs who we called "Mr. Paul." I hesitantly asked how Granny had ended up with Mr. Paul's pajamas & she said that Mr. Paul had died & his wife, Miss Anna asked if they wanted anything of his. And Granny took his pajamas. "We are indeed at the mercy of our elders, ancestors, & dead friends of our elders at all times, but especially when we are in their presence & pajamas," I fervently prayed.
Incidentally my mother also recently revealed that one of my bedrooms as a child (the Raggedy Ann one) was formerly the scene of a murder & that yes, they knew this before renting the house. Which is some Amityville-Annabelle bullshit, IMO. Peaceful dreams, child. No wonder I developed scrupulosity. I spent two and a half decades praying like a sinner trapped in a haunted convent & now I know why. Sweet dreams, all.
If you can avoid it, don't wear a dead man's pajamas.
R.I.P. Granny, Papa, Uncle Eddie, Mr. Paul, & Miss Anna.
I love being your mom, sometimes I think I should spanked you more and laughed less when I did it!!! (Inside joke). It’s been quite a ride and I’m so glad I’m still in the bus! I am one darn Happy Mother!
Congrats on the new sack...sleep rules.
As for asswipes with cameras, I find it interesting that many of them yammer about their rights while pissing all over somebody else's.
Mom would be 112. I still miss her.
Have a killer week, Kimo Sabe...
Huzzah for getting a brand new bed!
Prompted by your new, non-gaybed bliss, I am scrutinizing my bed acquisition memories & have come to the startling, icky realization that both my childhood beds were inherited from dead or elderly family members. 😳 In other ghost-related bedroom furniture acquisition tales, the wooden handmade box-inside-another-box that my brother & I used as our toy box throughout our childhoods, we later learned was originally the dresser-top baby crib made by our Papa for our dead Uncle Eddie, who tragically died ten days after he was born. Sorry Baby Uncle Eddie, we didn't know! 😬
For some reason this reminds me of one summer in my teens when I visited my Granny & Papa & I had forgotten to pack pajamas. Granny to the rescue, handed me a set of men's old fashioned pajamas, that I assumed were Papa's, which would be kinda weird to wear, but whatever. ("We are at the mercy of our elders & ancestors at all times, but especially when we are in their presence," I surmised to myself.) I was tall, Papa was short, so I expected the pajamas to barely fit, but they fit me fine. Granny was pleased as punch to divulge that these pajamas had belonged to a very tall friend of theirs who we called "Mr. Paul." I hesitantly asked how Granny had ended up with Mr. Paul's pajamas & she said that Mr. Paul had died & his wife, Miss Anna asked if they wanted anything of his. And Granny took his pajamas. "We are indeed at the mercy of our elders, ancestors, & dead friends of our elders at all times, but especially when we are in their presence & pajamas," I fervently prayed.
Incidentally my mother also recently revealed that one of my bedrooms as a child (the Raggedy Ann one) was formerly the scene of a murder & that yes, they knew this before renting the house. Which is some Amityville-Annabelle bullshit, IMO. Peaceful dreams, child. No wonder I developed scrupulosity. I spent two and a half decades praying like a sinner trapped in a haunted convent & now I know why. Sweet dreams, all.
If you can avoid it, don't wear a dead man's pajamas.
R.I.P. Granny, Papa, Uncle Eddie, Mr. Paul, & Miss Anna.