My Aunt Patty loves to tell adorable little anecdotes about my childhood. She and I have that in common. Here goes.
When I was three years old, I approached my mother and my aunt with what I certainly thought was some information they couldn’t live another day without knowing.
“Buell is naughty,” I said definitively.
“Wwwhat?” they replied, laughing. [Because it’s always a good idea to laugh at a three-year-old who is trying to share something with you that is earth-shattering to her. Builds character and all.]
I repeated, “Buell is naughty.”
My aunt tried to decipher my message, “BILL is naughty?” (Because I had an uncle named Bill.)
“Noooo, not BILL. BUELL,” I responded impatiently. (Because Uncle Bill was not, to my knowledge, naughty.)
My mom gave it a shot, “BEULAH is naughty?” (Because my Grandma Jean had a close friend named Beulah. Also not naughty.)
Exasperated, I decided to spell it out for them.
“Noooo, Buell. You know, like buell-shit.”
And while I’m told they laughed pretty hard in the moment I’m fairly confident my dad got an ass-chewing after work that night.
Enough about me.
Not your mommy's blogger.
A freelance writer and editor, wife and mother of four who excels at Wii bowling, makes a mean cherry pie, and has probably seen the movie Grease more times than you. Read a lot more about Jenny Motley here.pinterest is the new black.
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