I'm a great aunt. Like, officially. As in, my niece had a baby and I might show up on their pedigree chart someday. Isn't he adorable? I need to go shopping.
I'm not totally sure how I feel about this Great Aunt thing. On the one hand, I am so happy and excited for my niece and her husband. They are a really great couple, and they are going to be really fun parents, but they also freely admit that they are not perfect, well, Rachel admits it anyway, and since they keep a blog I will get to read all about it. Bonus!
But I also feel like it's important for little Liam to know that his Great Aunt Vern should be his favorite person. Like, ever. And I'm not sure he'll ever come to this knowledge. To prove my point, have you ever had a Great Aunt that you were close to? That didn't have a beard and live next door to her parents? Who didn't own seventeen cats? Let's be honest. Nobody really knows or cares about their Great Aunts unless they send money regularly. And even then it's like, "Sweet, my crazy great aunt must have won at the slots again. I love it when she's manic and sends me cash."
I think it's time to change the stereotype of the Great Aunt. Liam, listen up. I know you've only been here for twenty-four hours, but time is of the essence. Your great aunt Vern, aside from loving you already would like you to have a concise understanding of the role of a Great Aunt. Ummmm....
Okay, hypothetically let's say we're at a family reunion. It's dinner time, and there are 40 people trying to tell each other what to do, and there are small children in line with empty plates demanding lots of jello and requesting no vegetables. You're in a corner on your dad's lap and he's trying to forget that he married into this craziness, and I'm watching the chaos ensue wondering where I can escape. This is where you come in. Your job is to remember that I'm your favorite and ask for me by name - a simple "Wa-ble-hmmm" will do. I answer to just about anything, but especially to "Wa-ble-hmmm". I'll come get you, and we'll hop down to the beach (well, I'll do the hopping, you just buckle up and stay attached to the hip, alrighty?) and I'll tell you all about how the current Nursery Rhymes are cleaned up versions of their original tragic tales written by manic depressives before the days of Zoloft. You'll laugh and say, "Oh Aunt Vern, you are so funny," and I'll say, "The secret, my child, is knowing where the Zoloft is kept."
And we'll live happily ever after.