And speaking of adorable.

 

This is my baby Zach. Actually, my mother was the one from whose loins he sprung, but she did me the great honor of having him just when I was really wishing I was old enough to go off and get married so I could have a bunch of my own. (I was only 8, but most of my adult male role models acted about my age, so I figured I'd do OK) Zach was my baby. I picked him up constantly; I played with him, Once he was done nursing, I fed him (If I could have lactated, I would have done that, too, I'm sure) I dressed us alike...He was like having a real live doll. He couldn't say my name, so he called me Mayum...I miss that sweet baby.
He was however, not always so sweet. I was reminded today of one instance in particular, so I thought I'd share the story
My folks used to have this old VW Van, and Zach was among the first of the carseat generation...(I, on the other hand, am a card-carrying member of the brake-slam-right-arm-flung-over-the-midsection-while-standing-on-the-front-seat-club. And I live to tell about it.) He sat on his carseat like a throne back there in the back of that old van.
For one reason or another, one day my mom went to go visit my Auntie Rizzie (pronounce that greasy without the "g") Of course Zachary and I went along. Now Rizzie was a lovely woman; a typical loving-granny type, but when she got to laughing, it was a sound fit to shake the rafters. She had a snort on her that once it got going, created this horrible "circle effect" of laughter--one never quite knew what to do with the laughter that bubbled up when Rizzie started laughing. She had to have known that either we were laughing AT her, or she believed that we really all thought she was just so funny! because when Rizzie laughed, everybody laughed.

Anyway, On the way to her house, we see her out walking, so as one does in the country, we just stop the car right in the middle of the road. I'm sitting in the passenger seat, Zachary is sitting back there in his carseat; Mom and Rizzie are chit-chatting. And Rizzie starts laughing.

Well.

Zachary being only 18 months old or so, and quite the mimic starts in as well.

Oh, God.

There's Rizzie, snorting up a storm outside the car, and Zachary snorting his little heart out in the back seat. I'm laughing; partly at Rizzie, because it's just so dang funny, and partly at Zach, 'cause he's just so dang funny; My mom is laughing but not with hilarity. It was sort of this weak, scared-sounding noise-cover up laughter...Now as a nine-year old little girl, I was not super-tuned-in to the nuances of human emotion, but as I looked at my mom, I could tell she just wanted to crawl under the seat into that handy little drawer that was under her drivers seat. I started talking to Zach, *trying not to laugh, because it was only making him do it more*, and my mom is giving some excuse or another to Rizzie that "well, we ought to be moving along" all the while glancing with horrified intensity at little towheaded,crinkled-up-nose conversation killer sittin' back there on his throne.

We never really talked about it after that day; I'm sure my mom shared the story around the adult circles...but it came up again not too long ago, and to hear the story all over again, from an adult perspective...Well, let's just say none of the humor's been lost.

Auntie Rizzie (That's her in the photo highlight): we loved you too.