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My parents, when they remembered, measured my height on the back of the door to the basement. It was there that I could see how much I’d grown over the past years and a good way to be all, “I’m not THAT short” when my brother called me Stumpy. I was also, I recall, horrified by what my mother called “her handwriting.”

I’d probably do the same thing in my own house – for my KIDS, not ME – but all my doors are stained wood – nothing white here. So I have to do other things in order to see how much they’ve all grown.

Back in April, 2008, I bought myself Big Mac – a 24 inch computer that was hella awesomer than my previous computer – a 10 inch iBook with a broken screen. It was on that computer that I vowed I’d “write a book,” and “watch dancing kittens playing the piano.”

I did.

When I bought it, rather than simply take a picture of the technology, I decided to pose someone in front of it.

MUCH more interesting that way.

Also: SQUEE at chunky Baby Legs!

Alas, all good things must come to an end. Big Mac had been wheezing and choking along, trying to keep up with me as I beat on it day in and day out.

Last weekend, I’d finally had enough when, once again, Big Mac decided that I didn’t really NEED to be working any more (Big Mac LIES! I must! work! more!) for the eleventy billionth time that week. HOW DARE MY COMPUTER JUDGE ME FOR WORKING!

It was then that I realized Big Mac and I were soon to be parted.

Luckily I had just the thing to fix that.

Pranksters, meet Big Mac II.

Also: look at how far that chubby baby has come. He’s the one in the blue nerd shirt. His sister, Amelia, wasn’t even a twinkle in my eyes when Big Mac 1 came home.

(and no, that’s not Mountain Dew* OR pee in that bottle – it’s lemonade. They were playing “baby.”)

Amazing how far we’ve all come, isn’t it?

*my kids are NOT stoners.

Amelia loves books. Shocking, I know, since I’m barely literate, but there you have it: genetics are fucking weird.

Anyway, for her birthday, she got a good number of books. Being the last of three, it’s nice for her to get something that’s NOT a hand-me-down from her brothers, so she eagerly tears into them. And, really, anything else, but that’s neither here nor there.

I was laying on the couch trying to beat a particularly vicious level of Angry Birds on my iPad when she padded over and plopped a book – from her birthday – onto my lap. Politely she asked me to read it.

“Okay,” I said, giving the stink-eye to those stupid pigs on Angry Birds, “come on up.”

Wow. That’s fucking cute! I thought to myself as I began to read.

Aww, they’re friends. I bet this is gonna be an ebony/ivory kinda story – you can be friends with anyone! What a great moral that is for kids.

And now a monkey as a friend! Wow, what a great story this is. And the pictures? Amazaballs. Plus, I mean, a PRESENT? Who doesn’t love a good present?

Okay, now you’re losing me, book. Cooking is bullshit. CookBOOKs are bullshit. But okay, the kid prolly thinks this is great. I’ll soldier on.

Um.

WHAT?

I thought they were BFFOMGLOL. And now we’re talking about EATING our friends? What the shit kind of story IS this?

OMFG.

There’s dead mouse every-fucking-where! But! But! Mouse loved to PAINT! They were BFFLOLOMG!

How can you EAT your BFF?

I FEEL LIKE I’M GOING TO BARF.

It was then that I closed the book.

Who the hell WRITES these kind of books anyway?

*shudders*

In college, I had to take what I called, “Bible Class” and it was the first time I actually cracked open the Bible. Well, other than the times I read aloud random passages from the hotel rooms I was staying in (much, I should add, to the chagrin to whomever I happened to be staying with). Thank you I say now, o! wily Gideon’s, for supplying me with Bibles to read from to annoy my fellow travelers with.

I read the book cover to cover and learned a lot about what the rest of the religious world was talking about. Things that most of you probably just inherently knew, but for someone like me who grew up saying “Good food, good meat, good God, let’s eat” as a bastardized version of Grace, I simply was flabbergasted. There really is, I should add now, no fucking separation of church and state.

Anyway. I married someone who grew up in a family who is so religious that they’re probably still reeling from the PTSD from meeting me and finding out that yes, their son loves a heathen.

For Ash Wednesday one year, I was working on the floor and the pastor happened to be walking around giving out the cross on the forehead, and in the name of Trying Something New, I had decided to give up using “fuck” for Lent. It should go without saying that I am not Catholic, but I was reading the Bible and figured that it was a good idea to TRY it out.

Aunt Becky Gives Up The Eff Word:

The Daver: “What’s on your forehead?”

Aunt Becky: “Ashes.”

The Daver: “From?”

Aunt Becky: “I gave up using “fuck” for Lent.”

The Daver: “You know that means you can’t say it, right?”

Aunt Becky: “FUCK.”

Lent FAIL.

Aunt Becky Goes Crucifix Shopping:

The Daver: “Shit, I need to pick up something for the Christening on Sunday. Can you pick up something for my new Goddaughter?”

Aunt Becky: “Something…?”

The Daver: “Just go to the religious store in town and get her something.”

Aunt Becky: “Bwahahahahahahahahaha!”

The Daver: “You know, like a pearl something.”

Aunt Becky: “I’m going to go and get her a gigantic crucifix.”

The Daver: “No.”

Aunt Becky: “Like a gigantic BLEEDING crucifix for them to hang in her room.”

The Daver: “NO!”

Aunt Becky: “I want it to have like realistic blood and everything. I’m thinking something in the market of…8 feet tall and 6 feet wide. That should take up at least part of the wall of the nursery.”

The Daver: “Becky, that’s not funny.”

Aunt Becky: “Maybe they can hang it over her bassinet! To keep out The Devil. I think it would be lovely to watch over her.”

The Daver: “Becky, that’s really not funny at all.”

Aunt Becky: “Neither is sending me into a religious store. I don’t know FUCK about this shit, Dave. Besides, YOU are the Godfather, not me. Also, YOU are the heavenly one.”

The Daver: “Please?”

Aunt Becky: “Do you think this sort of crucifix is a custom job?”

Christening FAIL.

(ed note: Dave didn’t speak to me for an entire week. Also, I bought the kid a nice bracelet with a tasteful non-gory cross on it.)

What religion will Aunt Becky mess up next?

It’s like Where In The World Is Carmen Sandiego? except with RELIGION.

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