Sarah Morgan
No, don’t. I like this stuff.
This Sunday was one-side-of-the-family get-togetherness… one father, one sister, three sons, two daughters, six grandsons, three granddaughters, two great-granddaughters, five in-laws, a girlfriend, a boyfriend and a friend. And that’s missing a granddaughter, a fiance and a grandson. Madness. But in a very cool way. The grandkid generation of me is all grown up and boring, but there’s a new round of tiny people running around and making things fun again, which is very nice. And the grudges or disagreements that even I know are there between certain people were ignored or politeness-ed away for the time, which was even nicer.
So today, in a so-I-thought unrelated bout of cleanliness, I decided to make good on the batch of family history from the other-side-of-the-family that my aunt had sent me when I mentioned I was starting a family tree.
Yes. Mental note. Do not mention anything, ever again, that will unleash such a batch of family history upon my head. There’s about 500 entries to be changed or added to the family tree. Look for this to be completed about the 12th of Never.
This is what I get for having so darn many relatives. But it’s worth it. Only children of only children must never have any idea where they get their quirks and neuroses and weirdnesses from. Me? I KNOW.
And speaking of weirdness – only this time I’m not related to it – Tommy has his site up and it’s not just pictures of his car anymore! Huzzah. What it does have, actually, is adorably cute pictures of Baby Tommy and Baby Frank. (Like Muppet Babies, they are, only without the mom with the striped socks.) Hee. (And thank you for the plug. But honey? It’s not a blog, cause you don’t have an archive.
And years of pointless ramblings, like this. Has it really been years? Good lord, I hope not. I’m too sleepy to check, though.
