This past weekend the spawn spent time with FAPOS (acronym for Fat Ass Piece Of Shit) or, as I usually refer to their dad, Satan. He doesn’t live here in town so they only have to see him (oops, did I say that) every other weekend. As he was not in town for their birthdays a week and a half ago, a party was planned for his side of the family to get together and celebrate spawn’s and spawnette’s birthdays. Now before eyes start rolling and heads start shaking, I need to fill you in and let you guys get to know “the other side of the family” before you start to judge.
I. Love. My. Ex.’s. Parents. Big Daddy and Grandma are two of the most wonderful people I know. I never married their only off-spring but to me they are still my family. FAPOS and I split up approximately fourteen years ago and had it not been for his parents, our lives (the spawn and I) would have been extremely difficult. It goes to prove that even though we are well educated, loving, compassionate, and God-fearing people, there’s no guarantee our kids will be. Crap, that means my children still have the capability of turning into serial killers, arsonists, or stock-brokers.
So anywho, back to the party. You already know I’m from the South. Big Daddy is one of three locals left that is actually a native of our “Just This Side Of The Georgia State Line” town. Grandma was born and raised in Alabama. As you can imagine, it’s a totally different dialect when we’re visiting their home. Now, the birthday parties aren’t just for parents and grandparents, no-siree-bob! We invite the whole family: aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, the whole kit n’ kabootle. And can the family arrive just baring gifts? No, they bring along with them any livestock within arms reach as they jump into their cars on their way across town. The finally tally was as follows: one mom, one FAPOS, one grandfather, two grandmothers, three aunts, three uncles, one niece, four nephews, three dogs, three kittens (that were trying to be handed off to any unsuspecting family member), and four baby chickens. Chickens, I say…..CHICKENS! Someone brought frickin’ chickens to my childrens’ birthday celebration!
Hey, at least I knew what we were having for dinner.
I. Love. My. Ex.’s. Parents. Big Daddy and Grandma are two of the most wonderful people I know. I never married their only off-spring but to me they are still my family. FAPOS and I split up approximately fourteen years ago and had it not been for his parents, our lives (the spawn and I) would have been extremely difficult. It goes to prove that even though we are well educated, loving, compassionate, and God-fearing people, there’s no guarantee our kids will be. Crap, that means my children still have the capability of turning into serial killers, arsonists, or stock-brokers.
So anywho, back to the party. You already know I’m from the South. Big Daddy is one of three locals left that is actually a native of our “Just This Side Of The Georgia State Line” town. Grandma was born and raised in Alabama. As you can imagine, it’s a totally different dialect when we’re visiting their home. Now, the birthday parties aren’t just for parents and grandparents, no-siree-bob! We invite the whole family: aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, the whole kit n’ kabootle. And can the family arrive just baring gifts? No, they bring along with them any livestock within arms reach as they jump into their cars on their way across town. The finally tally was as follows: one mom, one FAPOS, one grandfather, two grandmothers, three aunts, three uncles, one niece, four nephews, three dogs, three kittens (that were trying to be handed off to any unsuspecting family member), and four baby chickens. Chickens, I say…..CHICKENS! Someone brought frickin’ chickens to my childrens’ birthday celebration!
Hey, at least I knew what we were having for dinner.
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