CAMRYN'S FAMILY SERVICES NOW OPEN!

Over the weekend my home was open for room and board—just for my niece.

{I don’t have an open door policy for hobos.}



She missed me. Awwwwwwwwwwwww.
And, in her words, “I want to spend time with my extended family,” said the teenager.



HAHAHAHAHAHA!



Wait—what?!



Ubberly excited, she packed her bags to escape her home of three little brothers to journey to my neck of the woods to enjoy a jam-packed-quality-time-full-of-girly-estrogen.

{Minus the hubby….gotta make sure he isn’t included, ‘cause that would make me…EW.}




Estrogen she wanted, estrogen she got. Little did my teenage niece know she’d be walking into a real haunted house full of ghouls, one or two gremlins, a dinosaur, an ogre, and a cavern of witches. {With a ‘W’ ladies….make sure you say it loud with a ‘W’. {*insert witch cackle here*}

To impress my niece—their cousin—my demented crew screamed constantly to show off their lung power. Like. All. Freakin. Day. Long.

They fought over: Who got to sit next to her, who got to eat beside her, whose room she’d sleep in. Oh, and like, “I was talking to her first! ARGH! Mommy! Make her be quiet! She’s so rude! She’s interrupting and I was—WHA HA HAAAAAAAAA!!!!! Stop it! You’re so rude! I hate you! WHAAAAAAAA!!!” *gulp* “WHAAAAAAAAA!”

Oh, brother. Give me a break.

While in the car, my 4 year old, seeing everyone crying and shouting, pulled from that energy like a death star and just opened her mouth and started yelling—because why not, everyone else was, right?

Then, she got pummeled in the back of the head with the Webkinz her sister threw over the back seat to hit her other sister, but who had the aim of a lame duck. The stuffed animal clipped the 4 yr. old’s hair, sliding it out of place. Heaven forbid, the stars fell from the sky right then and right there.

So, driving down the freeway, enclosed in tight quarters, my 2 year old decided to get in on this action:

“RAWRRRRRRRRRR! RAWRRRRRRRRRR!”





Yep. Why not? Armageddon had broken loose in the car; why wouldn’t this be the perfect time to scream out Tyrannosaurus executioner growls and froth at the mouth with E. Coli worthy slayer jaws?

Last time I checked, my car was registered and licensed for Jurassic transportation.

Traumatized from the back seat, my teenage niece sat there with her mouth in a small ‘o’, wide-eyed like a frozen block of ice, you know, the crystallized kind from the ice age.
Silly girl, didn’t you know this was the Mesozoic period? {Neither did I, I had to Google it.}

Not to disappoint her—because I left my club at home—I turned and cried out in my motherly caveman howl:

“You! Stop! Fighting! NOOOOOW!



“BUT MoOoOoM!”




“NO! Stop! Or. You’ll. Go. Squishy-squish. Out. Window! Unga!”




{Definition abridged from the Homosapien dictionary:

Unga: Cavemoms don’t harrumph—they unga. Unga modernized to Harrumph somewhere around 5 b.c. Just a note of worthless trivia…}

My niece is happily back at home now. No giant meteorite or super volcano could have kept her here.
My sister writes, “She actually hugged her brothers when she got home!!! That never happens!”

Awwwww. Doesn’t that give you a warm fuzzy feeling knowing that your family has the power to heal teenagers and scare them into behaving?

CAMRYN”S FAMILY SERVICES LLC:

‘Let us heal you. Come stay a day and you'll know your life doesn't suck quite like ours!’

Do you value your hearing?
Are you current on your rabies shot?

No? Come on down! We’ll take care of it for ya! Blown out eardrums to the first 5 people!

And - get your very own caveman club keychain, equipped with laser that shoots a mama’s evil eye death ray! “Unga!!”