I didn't know we were a part of THAT family!

Kristen @ We Are THAT Family invites everyone to write about how their family is THAT family. This is my first official submission to this weekly and boy, it's a good one.

I've recently been telling the horrors of Brown Re-decorating episodes 1 thru a million but in order to do this story justice, I have to re-tell some points.

Because we are THAT family, I'd been using thumbtacks to hang precious family portraits on the wall. And because my husband only married into THAT family, he insisted we use spackle to cover the holes instead of say, toothpaste. He went to work, I couldn't wait and so I proceeded to apply the spackle with my gloved hands - it was not a good job. Each thumbtack hole had about half an inch of spackle and the hole wasn't even covered. He said he'd help me spackle but he took a nap first - I bet you can predict the next part - I couldn't wait. Using a .50 cent foam sanding block, I went at that spackle for five hours. By the time Danny woke up, my entire house (and by entire I really mean from one end to the other) was covered in drywall dust. This was including our brand new TV and entertainment center but was not limited to areas such as my hair.

While I was in the shower scrubbing my skin raw and washing my hair times six, I heard screaming. This is not unusual for my family. (I guess that should have been my first clue that I was part of THAT family.) Olivia runs into the bathroom like a crazed lunatic is chasing her with weaponry and with her shrieks are giggles. "What's wrong?" I said. "dfsdfjleurewiouqpc" she answered. Huh? Oh, that's all the shampoo blocking my line of hearing. "Daddy farted on me and he's going to do it again and it really stinks." Sigh. My first instinct was correct - a crazed lunatic chasing her with weaponry.

As she's escaping out the 2nd bathroom door I hear that scream - a blood curdling scream that can only come from a small child, usually a girl - when she's really hurt.

Picture this: I am in the shower with so much shampoo on my head that more of it has dripped into my eyes, nose and ears than it has cleaned my hair. I cannot see, hear or smell (thank God for the last sense lost) but my child is screaming. "WHAT'S WRONG?"

She slammed her finger into the door as she was making her big getaway from the FartDaddy.

So, friends. I admit - I did not know that we are part of THAT family but it's true. When your daughter gets hurt while running away from her father who's farted on her and threatens to do it again; there's no denying it.