A bunch of people are coming together to help Tanis celebrate her very long awaited, very well deserved new bundle of Redneck with an internet Redneck Shower, which I'm told consists of buckets, Coors Light and maxi-pads. I don't even want to know.
The idea is that we share with Tanis, and the world, how we too strive to be a good Redneck Mommy, how we aspire to be even an iota of the Redneck that Tanis is.
That house she's in? CAME ON WHEELS. There ain't no way nevah I can top that, and I wouldn't even try. Tanis is the Queen Redneck, and no one could ever take her place. In fact, I'm fairly sure that's why love her as much as I do. I mean, really, I'm certainly no Redneck, but good lordy, I'm drowning in them. I am a Redneck magnet.
There's my Uncle Lee, who had his prison sentence deferred by 10 hours so he could attend his niece's, my cousin's, funeral. At her trailer. Where we played horseshoes and drank Bud and everyone wore Lee Dungarees with their ass-cracks hanging out. Where I showed up in a suit. Also where Uncle Lee staggered over to me at one point and say, "Heyyyyyy, baby. You sure are looking purdy today." And I said, "Thanks, UNCLE Lee." And he countered with, "Wanna come sit over here by me?" *eyebrow waggle* To which I replied, ""Uncle Lee, I am your NIECE. You know, Ed's daughter, Ed RIGHT OVER THERE?" *points to father, who isn't saving me one little bit* And he says, "Oh, yeah, Ed's little girl. You sure did grow up niiiiiiice." And that's when he grabbed my thigh, and that's when I decided it was time to go home, and that's when my father fell. over. laughing.
There's my husband, who taught his children to pull his finger before he taught them to speak.
There's my mother's entire ancestry. I once spent a lovely week in Georgia with my aunt Deb, and she showed me the book of their family lineage. Yes, there is a published book, and yes, it shows plain as day how that family tree does not branch at all for 4 generations.
There's my grandmother, who pulled a loaf of bread out of her sister's trash can, screamed at her sister for wasting "...a perfectly good loaf of bread so long as you're not too lazy to tear the mold off." And then made me a sandwich.
There's my Uncle Jimmy, who had the roof removed from his house so the chickens could have more freedom.
There's my Uncle Smitty, who has no running water, only a well, and when you go out to the well with him, he tells you the story about how he lost is frontal skullplate in "the war" and then, when you're least expecting it, grabs your hand and shove it onto his brain. Oh, how he laughs and laughs.
There's my father, who videotaped me masturbating when I was 6 months old and has shown that video to every boy I've ever brought home.
There's my father again, who will tell you today if you asked him that is best kiss was his first kiss, and her name was Janet. Janet is his cousin.
There's my grandfather, who held a gun pointed at my father and told him to marry my mother, because they'd had a date the night before and she woke up nauseous from a hangover, and therefore was pregnant. Even though they didn't have sex.
There's my mother, who on that first date wore tight red jeans that had a hole in the knee, so she painted her kneecap with red nail polish.
There's my father, again, who called me when I was 15 to tell me that if I met a boy about 8 years older than me named Eric, I was under no circumstances to sleep with him. Because he was most likely my brother.
There's my sister in law, who is currently investing all of her money in firearms because she's decided that's the only safe investment in this unstable economy.
There's my brother who will not. stop. telling me. how hot I am. Really. Ewww. But kind of giggle.
There's my mother in law who, I found out years later, only served my children powered milk when they were little. Milk is sooo 1930's.
There's my childhood best friend Rainy Day, which is enough all on it's own, except that she found out right before her mother passed away that her cousin was actually her brother.
There's Rainy Day's family, who we grew up with and loved like our own family, only to find out years later that we are actually related. I've made out with no less than two members of her family.
Which brings me to me. Maybe it's true what they say. Maybe you can take the girl out of the trailer park, but never get the trailer park out of the girl. My husband offers you this as proof.
So, Tanis, happy Redneck Mommy's Day. You're clearly not alone. We're all here to lend you Jameson when his teeth come in, make you Kraft Macaroni and Cheese when you need a casserole, and to help you fill beer cans up with rice if he starts asking for a rattle.