Monday, June 23, 2014

Life At a Funeral

"So refreshing. And the toddler who poured it for me was delightful."

Afternoon Readers,

I really wish I was one of those people who could eat an entire bag of peanut M&Ms, drink half a bottle of wine, eat three miniature Snickers, chase it all with a can of cheap beer, and feel great the next day.

Doesn't mean I'll stop trying, but a girl can wish.

Vegging out and watching TV was Husband and my answer to a very full weekend. After the wake on Friday, Saturday was devoted entirely to Grandma Lu's funeral and an afternoon of eating, drinking, and telling stories.

At least, that's what I'm assuming was going on.

In case this is your first time tuning in here, hi, I'm Paige Kellerman, toddler wrangler extraordinaire. Where most people indulge in the act of being social in social situations, I spend my time following around someone who's two feet tall and keeping him alive. He doesn't care who passed away or that screaming, "I sumfin' eat," inside a crypt might be sketchy. What he does care about is why you won't let him pour his own beer out of the keg.

It can be a tough gig sometimes. "Why won't you let me be mired in grief and let me eat some chili rellenos?"


"It's beer."


"Again, child, it's beer. I'm a little proud you figured out how to work the tap, but just because you filled your Solo cup with ice doesn't mean I'm ready to go to jail for your public intoxication. Top me off though."

Just as the tide of sadness would  creep up the shore of my thoughts, someone would try to throw himself down the stairs. 

Or rip pictures off the bookshelf.
Or run into a busy parking lot.
Or jump into the giant trough of ice water.

Things finally came to a head when I caught him trying to stab an innocent pumpkin sheet cake with a pie server. Incensed, he marched right back outside and gave the keg his full attention for the rest of the day.

"Your baby sure does like that keg."

"Well, they say to keep a lookout for the dependency problems early. I really though potty training would be our first hurdle, but when life gives you lemons, you stop your toddler from cutting them up and putting them in his Coors."

"You look tired."

"You should see the sheet cake."

Yes, Doc was his consistent, toddler self, oblivious to the occasion, but a stark and not-so-subtle reminder that life goes on.

Unless you're a sheet cake.

Can you tell I feel bad about that?

Because I do. Sorry to whoever made that.

Until Next Time, Readers!


  1. I can completely relate. My own 2 year old is in exactly the same stage. In to EVERYTHING. Non stop. And she doesn't care how I feel about it... I'm sorry for your loss. Maybe one day you'll be glad your little man distracted you from feeling so sad.

    1. That's kind of the nice thing about toddlers, they keep you from wallowing in your own thoughts. But as soon as you snap out of it, there's the consolation prize of a gallon of milk on the floor. He's the world's cutest tornado.

  2. Wait. There was a keg at the funeral? Also, my the sheet cake and your fam.

    1. I should've clarified that. Yes, we generally have a keg at most family functions. We like to commemorate things, but we also appreciate the value of beer right from the tap.

  3. Now I want cake. Even if it looks like it's been hacked with a chainsaw by Leatherface.

    1. I'm the same way. Oh it's in 300 different pieces? I'll take 250, please.

  4. Sympathies, condolences, hugs, and the rest of those Jelly Bellys from our dorm room,* coming your way.

    *I already ate all the Jelly Bellys. I'm like a toddler that way. Love you, though. xoxo

    1. I'd be disappointed if you hadn't finished them already. You can stay my hero.

  5. At my husband's grandfather's funeral, my two yr. old stood up on the pew, pointed at the body and yelled, "Shhh! He's sleeping!" Toddlers and funerals are the best. And yes, time does march on--sheet cake mutilation and all ;) xo