The Variable C Strikes Again!

(Viewer discretion is advised)

Halloween definitely has to be one of the best holidays for lawn decor. Dry ice, coffins, cobwebs, strobe lights, and all things motion activated (or very alive, depending on your point of view). Some enthusiastically festive people dress up like zombies and chase poor kids around with fake chainsaws. Others, like the Andersons, resurrect their nice-smelling pumpkin candles, buy some cheap candy, and admire our neighbors' menagerie of eerie ornamentation.
And then there's these kind of people...

And I'm sure you all are searching for words to explain this extravaganza, so I'll go ahead and put the words in your mouth--

This is yet another perfect exhibition of the variable c as it is found in the natural world! 
These people know how to embrace the variable c! They flaunt their crazyfreakingawesomeness!

So, that being said:
Live up to the c, have a c-ful Halloween, and most importantly,

Keep those pumpkins covered- 'cause it's gonna be a full moon!

    

Weekly Enlightenment

This week's Enlightenment brought to you by:

 Mama Anderson

***(A popular direction of dinner table discussion is each day's spontaneous and incredible meal served by the wonderful cooks of the Oxbridge Academy)

Friday night, I found myself explaining to my table members the dreadfully difficult decision I had to make pertaining to which line to stand in at lunch time: the pizza line, where the edible prize awaited beyond the perpetual horizon of ravenous and raging teenagers? Or the seemingly nonexistent wait to vote for sophomore class officers?

And since I can barely tolerate my own hormones,  I went the lesser of maddening routes.

Therefore, I sat down at the lunch table sans pizza and sadly, sans "I voted" sticker, and rather with a cup of soup and a mountain of broccoli, cauliflower, and asparagus, and a certain pride one obtains when one is courageous and mature enough to, in the presence of peers, down such green and healthful foodstuffs.

This whole story was my excuse for scarfing down a couple servings of pot roast, corn, and mashed potatoes that evening, but rather than act as my alibi for such hunger, it presented the cook of the house an opportunity to share with us her wisdom and enlighten our minds with valuable information that will surely be of benefit to us in the future...

So she whips out her iPad and reads to us the description of the cruciferous vegetables, a group of veggies that contain many vitamins, minerals, and cancer-preventative properties, and most importantly,  the sugar raffinose, which induces flatulence, apparently... 

Broccoli and cauliflower are cruciferous vegetables.

Meredith pipes in to tell us that asparagus makes your----

"WE KNOW!"

Dad: "Well, you know, not everyone can smell it-"

Me: "Geez you guys i get it"

And Mom warns me of the consequences I may receive for my lunch choices, and reminds me of my PSAT the next morning.

(Sigh.)

What's a girl to do!

Embracing Oktoberfest and the Variable C

This week we welcomed half of the most spectacular non-blood-related extension of the Anderson clan from the delightful state of Oklahoma; however, this full extension goes by a very specific name, do not be befuddled, because non blood relatives esteem a whole other variety of peculiarities than those of our congruent anomalous genes.

But I doubt they'd like me spotlighting their quirks and whimsicality- moving right along!....

Aren't they absolutely darling?

Well, yes, of course, but...

...um, what is this?

Why, that is- oh. Well. That's cute, I suppose. 

Hm.

I can't necessarily explain what is happening here. Are they imitating something? A fish, perhaps? A duck? A moose? A giant squid? A prehistoric jungle creature? Myself?

Nevertheless, this is a glimpse into the mystical, mathematical equation that defines this phenomenon:

A + B = AB

Please hold on to your brain jelly, people- I do not mean to blow your minds with this genius sensation, it is simple, scientific fact here.

Andersons + Burgins = AnderBurgs

This formula can be manipulated by adding the variable C representing crazyfreakingawesomeness, but often times this is misinterpreted as representing the length of the hypotenuse of a right triangle, but you will know that the Pythagorean Theorem is a^2 + b^2 = c^2. I can see, however, how this could be confused with the AnderBurg Theorem:

A^4 + B^4 = C^infinity

...which constitutes all variables described above.

Alas! Math cannot even begin to express the crazyfreakingawesomeness that occurs when the two tribes converge!

There are stormtroopers!

Bagpipes!

Goulash, nudels, red cabbage!

Chicken-dancing!

And oh my lands, the people watching! (Think: little boy carrying a giant inflatable spiderman with only his skivvies on- backwards! Or the lady on stage wearing leather lederhosen--I apologize for no pictures, but imagine, imagine!)

This is a wonderful world we live in folks-- find some crazyfreakingawesome people and soak it up together!

Nutze den tag!

(Tune in two months from now for a Caribbean New Years with the AnderBurgs!)

School Bus Epiphanies

Because after a long and tedious day at high school, where the girls are catty and the boys are just, well, boys, I'm on the bus and shielding my eyes from an ever bright sun, and as my favorite song comes on I tap my fingers, and I remember that I'm going home to an amazing family and a hot, scrumptious meal..... then nothing else truly matters, because, closing my eyes to bask in God's sunshine,
I'm so very happy. No one can take that away.

Anderson Table Rules of Conduct

1. Minors must set the table with appropriate furnishings: forks, knives, napkins, plates/bowls, etc. Special requests must be repeated twice or thrice, but odds are Meredith (aka kid sister) won't hear you at all because she's busy pouring the milk in unfair proportions so might as well tell me a few times to get whatever condiments you say are so absolutely necessary for your precious palate. Oh, and also, if we're having salad, please don't put those blasted wooden salad bowls on the table. I gotta hand-wash those buggers. And if Mom asks, just give her one, but negotiate first with her, won't you?

2. Once seated, and everyone is not busy filling their plates to their hearts' content, one must be chosen to bless the food. Choose wisely; one must be in good spirits, be aware of what reasons the other table members are in not so great of spirits, and should be able to articulate those reasons in prayer in a subtly humorous manner.

3. The only rules for the actual consuming part are as listed:

• Chew with your mouth closed- generic but seriously, it's disgusting
• Put your napkin in your lap! (You should've done this before we said grace, ya' rookie)
• Don't look like a caveman
• Use the napkin 
• Don't drop the napkin
• Oh, and apparently there's a correct way to hold your fork, but hopefully you've learned by now

4. Conversation-- the most essential component! All are required to share the nitty-gritty of their day, whether it be about school, work, people-watching within those establishments  or elsewhere, bad jokes, good jokes, impossible riddles (Meredith...), the things you ate ("I ate 2 crickets at school, Mom! And they served salmon and lobster bisque for lunch!" Imagine the looks on there faces...), weird things you heard while eavesdropping, what made you steam, what made you almost pee yourself, the sign person on the street you saw dressed as a taco, how you totally flubbed at volleyball in gym class and nearly hit the coach in the head with your wonky serve, the other kid that actually hit him in the head... The list goes on and on and on! You see, the possibilities are endless.

5. The rule is that once everyone is finished eating, the conversation may linger until all the most entertaining things you actually remember are announced. And if you remember later, well, odds are everyone's back to fiddling on their tablets and smartphones so might as well just share it on Facebook and hope someone sees it and you get a few measly likes.

6. (Conversation must have ended) Table must now be cleared and the post-supper clean-up must commence. Meredith will clear; I will wash. No exceptions. Unless I've been cursed with more unreasonable amounts of homework than usual. Otherwise, it's my territory. Don't you lift that sponge to that soiled frying pan! Don't touch it! Only I am worthy. Only me. I do not trust most to scrub as meticulously as I. So don't you dare touch those dishes.

7. Once again, I alone shall do the dishes, and I alone shall be the DJ for this event. Do not cramp my dish-mojo. I got this down. I will pick the tunes. You will tolerate the tunes. You will tolerate me singing to the tunes, and you will not, repeat, will not, record me doing so. Period.

Looks like somebody violated protocol. 

Maybe he just likes your deodorant...

Mom puts the food on the table and I hustle to get the salt, the pepper, the ketchup my kid sister can't live without. Meredith and I fight for the taller glass of milk, and as usual, I win this battle. We sit down, anxious to dig in. I pick at the mashed potatoes when I think no one's looking and Meredith gives me a dirty look. Mom sits and hollers at Dad to get off his phone, and finally, all four of us are united, yet another evening of Mom's good cookin' and each other's company.

But before anyone can share the highlights of their day and the idiots and/or good samaritans they met along the way, we hold hands and bow our heads to say grace, to thank the Lord for these entertaining and ever so special people in our lives. It's Dad's turn tonight, Mom insists. Eyes closed (except for maybe Meredith's because I swear she peeks to see if I'm peeking), Dad blesses the food, and he asks God to be with those who can't be at the dinner table peeking during prayer and stealing morsels with us tonight, but before he can get to the part about how insanely lucky we are for our nutty family, Mom lets out a snort. He pauses. He peeks- well we all do- and continues. 

Aaaagh, HANK!!!!! 

-and a cold wet nose sneaks its way up my armpit. Dad hurries to the "Amen" but that cold wet nose finds a new victim and poor Dad is assaulted in the same manner. Forget an amen, God would understand, because it is apparent that the blessing of the food has just been punk'd, and not by Ashton Kutcher, but by a

BIG

FAT

HAIRY

STINKY

DOG

And we were all unfazed, because we loved that dog.

And I would give an arm and a leg for that canine to interrupt our prayer tonight; In fact, I'd do anything just to have his reeking, disgusting breath all over my steak and potatoes just one more time.
I can try to pretend, but that horrific aroma surely can't be replicated. And no human, animal, or celebrity could replace the best addition to the Anderson table there ever was. Never again.


We miss you, Hank.


And I can just see you now, nudging God's armpit when he's trying to listen to the prayers we send every night, and I bet he smirks and squirms just as much as we did-- and I know he loves you that much, too.

Hello! Welcome! But wipe your feet, won't you?

It is my honor to introduce to you the Andersons, just another average *2-2-2 American family. Consider yourself an interim member as you're emerged in the ordinary and routine instances that occur within this collection of mainstream human beings.

Oh, wait.
Wrong family.

Despite my inability to find enough words that are the close equivalent of "eccentric", I believe that you (whomever you may be), can look past my drastically limited vocabulary and see for yourself just what I endure on a day-to-day basis with this most spectacular flock of oddballs.

And yes.
I admit that I, too, am a member of this gaggle, a fellow oddity.

And no.

I am not ashamed.

*2 kids, 2 cars, 2 dogs, or 2 of anything your heart desires. Anything but bathrooms. Unfortunately, only 1 bathroom in the Anderson home...