While I was toiling over my upcoming Buccos of Suckitude post, an email popped into my inbox from my oldest sister Ta-Ta the Grand Poobah. She was taking a moment to forward a picture from vacation that she thought was just awesome and a great representation of what my family is like.
This picture to be exact:
I know what you’re thinking: “What the hell is going on here?! Are they … racing babies in wagons?!”
You see, my family, it is large and weird and when one of us (me) has the good sense to plop one of the family babies into a plastic wagon, and then realize that there is another family baby and another wagon, well, THE BABY WAGON RACE IS ON!
It started innocently. I was helping my just-turned-1 nephew put sand in a wagon when I thought to myself, “I think this wagon could hold this baby.”
So I tried it and yep, the baby fit like a snug little pill bug holed up in its shell. Well, you know that when you put a baby in a conveyance with wheels, you then must push the baby around to see if you can get a giggle out of said baby.
It worked. Except after three minutes of bending over and pushing a now-giggling baby, one tends to get a toe cramp, in their ribs. I was crippled and turned baby-pushing duties over to my brother-in-law, who after a few minutes was also all, “CRAMP!”
The solution to this cramping problem was not to examine our poor state of physical fitness, nor was it to stop pushing the baby. Our solution was, “Hey! Let’s use a shirt to PULL THE BABY-STUFFED WAGON!
So now we have one laughing baby zooming up and down the shoreline, being pulled by his father, while another family baby is all, “I could totally take that kid. He would eat my baby-wagon dust.”
Enter my sister Pens Fan, sporting her PittGirl shirt, and enter her baby, who also turned one recently, tucked snugly into a pink wagon, and enter someone to say, “We should totally have a race.”
There we were, my entire family lined up on the beach cheering on the Ocean Isle Baby Wagon Race of 2010. Tina Fey’s son being pulled by his father versus Pens Fan’s daughter being pulled by Pens Fan herself.
Look how serious Pens Fan is about this race. She wants to win this baby-wagon pulling race like there’s a kiss from Sidney Crosby on the line.
Look at the babies eyeing each other up all, “My mom is kicking your dad’s ass.”
“Whatever. My dad is pwning your mom. Also, who the hell is PittGirl?!”
I’m not going to lie; the words “Chariots of Fire” were uttered. There may have been some humming of the tune.
There were witnesses to this race. Other beach goers watching the shenanigans, watching us cheering like we were witnessing our horse win the Triple Crown, probably thinking to themselves, “This poor white trash family has clearly never been to a beach before.”
I’m sure you want to know who won, and in this particular race, it was the boys.
That’s the victory lap, right there.
Next year, we’re going big. Radio Flyers.
Bring it, babies.