The Great Thanksgiving Pee Scandal of 2009

 I have teenaged granddaughters that are two of the greatest lights in my life.  They are beautiful, intelligent, snarky and funny - so funny that they make me laugh until I'm dizzy on a regular basis.  They do a marvelous rendition of "There's a Skeeter on My Peter, Get It Off" that once upon a time almost made me wreck my car on a backwoods Gaston County road.

Because I love them so much, for this story their names will be redacted and they will be referred to as Thing 1 and Thing 2.

Thanksgiving of 2009 was pretty much the norm for our family.  All of the kids and grandkids came over and ate everything I made in about 30 minutes.  I had the honor of cleaning up afterwards while they sat around and watched TV, ran up the Pay-Per-View bill, and threw casual and sometimes not-so-casual insults at each other. No bloodshed, thank goodness, though in honor of the day they might have kept the physical violence out of my sight.

As the sun began to set, all of the young'uns left, taking children with them and leaving my home in relative quiet.  At last I had control of the recliner, the remote control, and the refrigerator. If I drank, a glass of wine would have been almost glued to my hand. I settled for a glass of sweet tea with lemon and a piece of chocolate chess pie, which I had hidden away from the vultur-I mean, kids.

It wasn't an hour later that the house phone rang.  I heaved a sigh and answered it, wondering who had a castastrophe or who needed to be bailed out of jail.  "This had better be good.  I'm tired."

My oldest daughter was on the other end.  "Momma, what is wrong with my kids?" It came out in a wail.

At least no one was in the Gaston County pokey.  "What's wrong?" I asked.

She, her significant other, and her longtime best bud had been sitting in the den watching TV/passing a "cig" around when they realized that the little girls were quiet.  Awfully quiet.  The type of quiet that signals trouble with four and five year old children.  

The quiet was broken by the indignant shriek of Thing 2, the four-year-old.  "Aunt Thing!  Aunt Thing!  Thing 1 is trying to make me drink her pee!"

Somehow Thing 1 had managed to squat over a Barbie tea cup, pee in it, and ordered Thing 2 to drink it.  She had remarkable aim for a five year old because there was nothing left to clean up in their bedroom.

My daughter was bemoaning their behavior.  I, on the other hand, was sitting in my recliner and desperately trying not to wet myself from laughing so hard. It was that evening that my curse upon her had come true:  "Just wait until you have children of your own!"

The story is part of family lore.  I still can't tell it without laughing.  And I am so thankful to have granddaughters who give me such rich material for stories. 

Besides, now my own daughter can tell them "Just wait until you have children of your own!"