Meet the Pillburns

Jill has been double cursed. She has my mom (okay, okay. And me.) constantly mixing up and forgetting words and then, her dad, who can't pronounce anything right to blame for it. I mean, her dad loves some pico de guapo. Oh, and could you please pass the remoke? Then there is me (let's just blame my mom, though!) saying things like, "Bring me a coffee drink from the....oh what's that thing called? You know the big box that we keep the cold food in? Oh yes, fridge." Jill couldn't help but inherit some kind of issues.

In first grade, they learned all about the foundation of our country. Mayflower. Indians. Pilgrims. Jill excitedly explained all about it. "And then the Pillburns came over on the Mayflower." The who? Pillburns. It took me a good week to figure out she meant Pilgrims. I thought she was referring to one specific family. I finally corrected her. She insisted I was wrong. Kenny got involved. She seemed to believe him. I thought we have buried that. I thought wrong.

On Saturday morning, my parents had plans. By 11:30 the girls were hungry, and we decided to grab some food. Only problem? My dad had their carseats in his car from when they left Houston before the hurricane. I discovered extra carseats in my mom's car. Though the desk that always held the spare keys had been relegated to a back bedroom, I was sure they still kept the keys there. BINGO! We were off. I clicked on the radio finding nothing but classical music. Maybe we would get lucky with the CD.

"Two little kittens have lost their mittens, and they began to cry," blared through the speakers.

Kenny and I looked at each, grinning, and immediately began dancing. Jill and Emmi giggled in the back.

After a minute, Jill exclaimed, "You guys are dancing just like the PILLBURNS!"

Yep. Just like.