photo by cesarastudillo
Our family spent this past Saturday running some shopping errands, capping it off with a pizza dinner at one of our local restaurants. We arrived home completely stuffed and trying to decide what we would do for the rest of the evening.
We have an older home, and one of the features we like so much is it’s pocket doors. Our downstairs bathroom has a small one. We simply pull the door along its track to open or close it.
After we got home from dinner I went in to use the restroom and discovered that the door had come off its track on the back end. I could close it, but there was an interesting slant to the door, leaving an ever widening opening for any Tom, Dick or Peeping Harry to peer through if they wanted to. It didn’t do much for my sense of privacy.
“Hon,” I asked my husband, “did you know the bathroom door is broken?”
It was news to him, but he proceeded to inspect it and then began ordering for the toolbox. “Do the kids know anything about this?’ he asked. One by one we questioned each child.
“I didn’t do it.”
“It worked fine for me earlier.”
“I haven’t even used that bathroom today.”
The second go round didn’t elicit any change in the answers, so it left us with the only obvious answer to the mystery.
Helen did it.
Helen has been living with us for a number of years. She doesn’t show her face. She’s moved with us each time we changed addresses. We don’t have to feed her or anything, although she has cost us several trips to the hardware store and untold hours of searching for things that have utterly disappeared.
She does, however, bear the brunt of blame anytime something goes wrong that no one knows anything about.
“Where are the shoes I had left right here?” (I don’t know…. I haven’t seen ‘em…. What shoes?)
Helen hid them under the bed.
“Who made this mess in the kitchen?” (Not me…. Probably (fill in sibling’s name)…. That’s not my mess…. What mess?).
Helen did it.
“How did all this dirt get on the carpet?” (I haven’t been in this room…. (fill in sibling’s name) just came in from the outside…. I always take my shoes off…. What dirt?).
Helen again. She’s never around to defend herself, so I guess I shouldn’t feel too sorry for her. She has, however, become quite a fixture in our family. I do have to wonder, though.
Whose house will she end up in when all the kids have grown and moved out on their own?
Those inside family jokes make for interesting memories, especially when shared around the dinner table or while scanning family photo albums. It’s just another way to connect, and the more we’re able to connect with our children, the easier it becomes to open discussion about heart issues and sharing God’s truths. What inside joke does your family have?
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Monday, January 26, 2009
Those Inside Family Jokes
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1 comment:
When we've all moved out, I think Helen's coming with me. She's always opening my door and making fuses blow out in my room. She even comes with me on vacation (my niece got scared to death when the blinds suddenly went flying up).
I've actually got quite a few inside jokes at work. When I'm working with June (my boss's aunt), we've made a rule that, because we bump into each other and say "excuse me" too often, we say "excuse me" once before we begin and that's our one for the day. We don't have to say it anymore after that.
Steve (my boss) also asks all of us right before lunch starts whether we're going to be busy or not. We take a guess, and if one of us guesses right, that person is the "witch" or the "psychic." Most of the time we're wrong and we're completely happy with it, but today Kim guessed we were going to be busy and we were. So she's our psychic (she claims she's "borderline psychic", not a full one because we slowed down later).
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