Don't Look Now... (the hilarity of a two year old at a funeral)

Wednesday evening was the visitation for The Hub's grandma, and Thursday was the funeral. We decided to leave EJ and Five [notice her new blog name?] with my mom, and just took Beastie and The Babe with us up north.

The babies were very well behaved, for the most part, except for one incident on Wednesday night...

It was a very quiet, solemn visitation. I've been to lots of them, and some are crazy, loud, almost jubilant affairs. Those kind of visitations are awesome. Usually there is no inheritance or anything for tacky people to be excited about, just memories of a funny, boisterous loved one. This visitation was small and somber, and I'm not sure why because Elinor was a funny lively person. It was full of tears and bowed heads and all the things your imagination conjures up when you think of death in America.

So it's deathly quiet in there [no pun intended] and I'm entertaining Beastie by pretending to eat soup and cake that she's "cooking" for me. Suddenly, out of nowhere, she says loudly, "Momma! Get your boobies out!"

I was horrified. "Shhh, let's be quiet please," I said. She replied louder. "Momma!! Get your boobies out!!"

I put my finger to my lips. "No, [Beastie.] Let's use our very small voices."

She promptly placed her hands over her ears and screamed "MOMMA! GET YOUR BOOBIES OUT!"

I was laughing nervously, my face beet red. I looked around the room and all the mourners were silently laughing, shoulders shaking, faces red and mouths covered in hankies. They were laughing so hard you couldn't tell if they were crying anymore.

I don't know why she wanted me to get my boobs out. She isn't breastfed and hasn't been for a year and a half. Her breastfed brother wasn't crying or needing me. I guess she just wanted to spice things up a little.

And I leave you with this song, because it's all I could think of through the ordeal.