Family Resemblance

Life is so unfair. Honestly. I mean, is it too much to ask for just ONE of my children to look like me? Just a little? I mean, hello! Why do you think people have kids in the first place? To experience the wonder and joy of creation by way of creating miniature replicas of themselves, that’s why! And to carry on the family name, naturally. Oh, AND for help around the house. Chores equal GOOD. But mostly, we just want to make cute little mini-me’s, whose lives we will then mold and guide and basically live vicariously through so as to stay young at heart and correct the mistakes of our youth.

So imagine my dismay as I watch my children grow to look more and more like TGIM, and TGIM’s brothers and sisters, every single day. For reals. Tanner has his Uncle Hansy’s contagious grin, coarse hair, and build; Hannah is Aunt Candice Redux; and Alli looks like her Grandma Claire and Aunt Esther all rolled into one, with a pinch of TGIM, but in a girly way. It’s eerie, I tell you. And unfair. And EERIE.

Now, granted, these are all extraordinarily good-looking people, but COME ON. Shizz ain’t right. That’s all I’m saying. And did I mention that my kiddos just keep GROWING? Like, a LOT? Because TGIM’s brothers are freakishly large and strong, and his sister’s are Amazonian?! In comparison to me?! Keeping these children in clothes will be my ruin, I kid you not. (Heh. Kid? Hoo! Killer. Okay, focusing.)

Curse TGIM’s overbearing, yet strikingly handsome family genes!

But life has a way of evening the score, even when you think the scales are tipped wholly in your spouse’s favor.

Allow me to illustrate:

On Sunday, it was drizzling rain, so we all piled into the car and headed out for a leisurely family drive. As we wound our way through some of the more– oh, let’s call them “affordability-challenged,” shall we?– neighborhoods, a hazy, pinkish-gray mist blurred our view, but not our perception. We took turns pointing out the houses we would buy if we were gazillionaires and wanted to be conspicuous and vainglorious.

I finally settled on a cozy-looking farm-style house. And by “cozy” I mean “manor-housey.” It had several dormers, two chimneys, and this fabulous wraparound porch, complete with a white, wooden swing. One of those quaint, old-fashioned barns with the hayloft and crisscrossed doors was the clincher. I’m telling you, I can’t resist a cute little (or in this case, ginormous) barn. See, I have a barn-loving complex. I blame it on growing up on the mean streets of Phoenix. The asphalt jungle, if you will. I’m just saying.

“Ooooh, pretty horses!” Allison cooed, pointing out the window at the horses in the field surrounding My Chosen Home.

Hannah was concerned. “Aaaaw, they’re out in the rain, Momma. Why don’t their owners put ‘em away?”

“Well, that one doesn’t seem to mind,” I said, pointing to a pretty, strawberry roan-colored horse wearing a winter horse blanket and leaning against a low wooden fence that separated him from the next field and the horse corral. A gate stood open a few feet away from him. “Look. A gate. See? He could go inside if he wanted to.”

“Hey, Momma, what’s that horse wearing?” Allison asked, pointing at the blanket.

“It’s a poncho,” Hannah said, in her best, big sisterly “duh!” voice, before I could respond.

Then a new voice piped up. “A poncho?”

Four heads turned simultaneously toward Tanner, who had miraculously emerged from the magical and hitherto all-consuming land of Tamagochi to add his two cents to the conversation. “That’s not a poncho. That’s a horse poncho. A honcho!”

I snickered.

TGIM sighed.

“Bwah ha ha! A honcho!” Alli was elbowing Hannah. “Get it?! A HONCHO?!”

“Was the honcho covering the horse’s head?” Tanner continued, his gaze finally directed outside as he strained to catch a glimpse of the thus-dubbed honcho-wearing horse.

Oh, no, I thought. He’s not going to go there. No way.

“Because then it would be a HEAD honcho!”

Huh. He went there.

The girls and I broke into fits of laughter. “Oooh, good one, son!” I said between giggles. Because seriously? Good puns are fun for ALL.

My kiddos carried on doing that thing that kids do– you know, that mimic thing?– where they repeat a funny joke several times, more often than not accompanied by knee-slaps, cracks of wild laughter, and ofttimes some frighteningly violent arm slapping or elbow jabbing? There are some adults who may do this, too– perhaps! I don’t know! I’ve heard!– and while I am sure it must be “annoying,” and “a trial to friends and family,” I am equally certain it is an innocent and spontaneous reaction to amusement, and completely unintentional, and good jokes are MEANT to be shared, and why do people have to be so judgmental anyway? Gosh.

I turned to TGIM, my eyes overflowing with laughter and maternal pride, and dang me, if I wasn’t met with a Look. A Look! You know, one of those Dear God In Heaven He Is SO Your Son looks, with a smidgen of What Did I Ever Do To Deserve ANOTHER Punster, Lord, WHAT?!

“Hey,” I said, backing away from the Look, hands raised in an I’m Just Saying manner, “they LOOK like YOU.”

We spent the rest of the trip looking for more horses in honchos.

Ha!

Point, set, match.

Take that, overbearing TGIM-family genes.