A Wild Child (awriterswindow) wrote,
A Wild Child

"Look, Brian. My cereal is trying to send me a message. It says, 'OOOO'."
"Peter, those are Cheerios."
-Family Guy

I feel a lot better now. I guess it was just passing frustration. Because of the way I felt last night, I wasn't able to tell you all about last night's events, so here goes:

We got to NJ and drove to my grandmother's house. We took her, my grandfather, and my grandfather's friend Richard in our car and drove to the restaurant. We were late for dinner by the time we got there, and my uncle and his family still hadn't arrived. Everyone was really worried for awhile since he wasn't answering his phone and we've dealt with car accidents in our family before (around this time, actually), but then Brianna came running up to our table out of nowhere and it was all okay.

Brianna's all right...she's 7 and kind of a brat, but she can be okay sometimes. Rachel is my real favorite, though. She'll be two on Thursday and she is the best child I have ever encountered in my seventeen years. As I've said before, if I were guaranteed to have one like her, I'd have ten. She's so good and doesn't cry at all. She doesn't talk much either, but she doesn't really have to. She sat on my lap a lot last night and played with me. We also went to see the lobsters in their tanks (breaks my heart...it makes me want to become a vegetarian. For now, I just don't eat lobster). For some reason, she loved that and kept asking to do it again the whole night. She would make this noise which kind of sounded like "Nuh uh"..when people say no, and then she'd point in the direction of the lobster tanks and say, "Mo" for "more". After about three times of going to the tanks, I eventually said, "No, Rachel. No more lobsters. Bye bye lobsters!" She waved bye to them, but it took a lot of effort to keep her from going back to see them again.

I find it really funny how every time I come here I always end up being the unofficial babysitter. I am like the Pied Piper, playing my flute and being followed by young children instead of rats. And then later on my mother will act as though she had to do all the work, when really she was not the one running after the children in the restaurant, or frantically searching Babies R' Us for a five-year-old and answering questions from salespeople as to whether she was in "special school". No, she's not in special school. She's just a brat. I don't mind taking care of Rachel, though. Like I said, she's the best kid ever.

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