Those whacky Clays

First off, thanks for all the toe support following my last post. It's nice to know so many of you also have freak toes. I don't feel so alone anymore.

However, I was asked, "Who has pretty feet, anyway?" So let me clear that up right now. Erin Humphries does. I like to call her, "My Friend Erin-With-Four-Kids." Actually, I like to call her a few other things, too. But I'm pretty sure she'd get angry with me if I shared them here. Anywho, Erin has beautiful feet. Really. They're smooth and elegant and, well, pretty. It's totally annoying. When I start to covet her feet, I remind myself she has twice the responsibility I do for keeping human beings alive. In light of that fact, she can keep the pretty feet.

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I've been trying to come up with a few things that make my family unique. I can think of plenty of things that make us special and perhaps even enviable, not to mention bizarre and annoying. But unique. Well, now, that's a bit more difficult.

So the first thing that comes to mind is our wheels. There's the fairly standard Toyota. It's old but runs well. Then there's my husband's baby: a faded green 1970 International Scout, complete with customized roll bar. It's a Man Magnet. Come to think of it, it's a magnet for the curious everywhere. On the occasions I drive it, I'm very careful not to pick my nose at red lights. Not that I do that, of course.

What really puts us over the top in the unique category is our 1996 Dodge Caravan Sport minivan. How can a minivan have the word "Sport" in its name, you ask? Well, ye shall know it is Sport by its racing stripes. A minivan with racing stripes, y'all. !

My husband bought it from a friend for $100. It had been sitting for about a year. One new transmission and a good cleaning later and that baby runs like, well, like a 10-year-old minivan with a perpetually squeaky belt. But it seats eight, so I'm not complaining. Occasionally I pick up My Friend Erin-With-Four-Kids' kids.

Another thing that makes us unique is the frequency we partake of breakfast suppers. My mom -- a super Southern-style cook -- used to occasionally offer breakfast meals, which I always thought was awesome. Never mind that the woman can have all the major food groups represented on the table AND everything still be warm. Nah, scramble up some eggs and call me Fred. That's what I'm talkin' about.

When it comes to breakfast suppers, I subscribe to the Mae West philosophy. She said too much of a good thing is wonderful. So it's pretty common in Casa del Clay for me to whip out the pink carton of eggs, a can of biscuits and announce: Breakfast supper! So common, in fact, my 5-year-old daughter is now capable (with supervision) of preparing her own eggs from start to finish.


Another thing that's become standard around our house is a strange array of across-the-street parkers. When we bought our house, the view out our front door was of woods. Those trees have since been cleared, with a few picnic tables scattered around the lot. I never see anyone using the tables, but people like to park along the road there and do ... I don't know what. I'm afraid to know what.

A few days ago, this was the vehicle parked across from our house.









Excuse me, but why does someone driving a hearse need to pull over and rest? It seems to me that if ANY vehicle should drive from Point A to Point B without stopping, it's a hearse. And an ambulance. Definitely an ambulance.

Lastly, and I know I'm probably riding the poopy train too far, given the Connor Clay and the Disastrous Poopy post, but this is, after all, about what makes us unique. So it would be dishonest to not include the fact that my son now insists on sitting backward on the potty.

Of course.

I asked him why, Why, WHY must he sit backwards? He explained quite calmly, "Connors like to sit this way."

Oh. Well, then.



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