Ba Dum Bump

Lumpyhead was playing with an inflatable flamingo in the pool.

Lumpyhead: Mmmm, delicious flamingo.
Me: I don't think people eat flamingoes, Buddy.
Bump: Flamingoes, no. But egrets, I've had a few. But then again, too few to mention.

My husband, ladies and gentlemen.

I Can Come in Handy That Way

I went to the Social Security Office with my mom so she could apply for benefits under my dad's record.

I'm fairly certain she was the only English-speaking white woman to arrive with an Asian interpreter to translate bureaucrat-ese.

Things That Only Suck a Little About Attending Your Father's Funeral

1. Hearing how your father touched the lives of such a large and varied group of people, and learning how many others will miss him terribly - almost as much as you will.
2. The socially adept fellow mourners who manage to say the right things at the right time.
3. Seeing distant family and friends again (both the ones who live far away and the ones who are aloof).
4. Aunt Wilma.
5. Missing your children a lot, but being really glad they're not with you.
6. The amazing support from your friends - through every means possible - like getting text messages and voicemails (when I can triangulate between the big rock and the church steeple and a windmill and score two whole bars) or watching the florist haul in truckloads of flowers from your friends and colleagues.
7. Finding out your mom has high-speed wifi. (It went like this. Me [incredulous]: "Mom, do you really have wifi?" Mom: "What's a why-five?") It's a little unreliable, but it's wifi, man, and upon its discovery the heavens opened and the angels sang and I cried a little.

Things That Don't Suck About Attending Your Father's Funeral
1.

I still got nuthin.

Things That Completely Suck About Attending Your Father's Funeral

1. It means your dad has died.
2 through 8,932. See Number 1.
8,933. Leaving a fantastic beach house in Charleston, SC - three days into your trip - and finding an airline that will deliver you to Sioux Falls, SD (in a hurry, one-way or multi-city, for less than a gazillion dollars).
8,934. You end up back in your teeny-tiny hometown, with spotty cell service, even spottier blackberry service, and internet through your mother's ancient computer.
8.935. It is logistically impossible for your family to join you, so you spend most of the time answering the question "Where's your husband and kids?"
8,936. No, that's not my husband. That's my brother.
8,937. That's my uncle.
8,938. That's a woman. Dude, are you blind?
8,939. The social morons who want you to guess who they are. They approach you with the words "I bet you don't know who I am" and then just stand there, expectantly. [Note: It is perfectly acceptable to say "I bet you don't know who I am," and follow that immediately with "I'm Firstname Lastname and I know your mother/father/family through…" But if you just stand there waiting, imagining that you are a) so astoundingly memorable and that I will recall that one time your daughter and I went to the swimming pool together and b) so age-resistant that I can recognize you from twenty years ago, then you are seriously drinking too much of the local nitrate-laced water, my friend.]

Things That Don't Suck About Attending Your Father's Funeral
1.

I got nuthin.

Legitimized

Nathan Jr discovers the trick for not looking ridiculous in a red felt cowboy hat: Add a Horse.

The issue remains for the boots, however.