The Bubbe

So, I’m on vacation this week, right?  Because the nomadic lifestyle hasn’t yet been nomadic enough, I have now taken the show to Myrtle Beach and, later this week, we’ll “vacation” in my new home of Chattanooga, before my family heads back to Memphis and leaves me in East TN to figure it out.

However, while I’m here, I wanted to tell you the story of Mud Island last week.  On Friday last week, Mammoo, my kid sister, and I took the kiddos to Mud Island in downtown Memphis. It’s a to-scale replica of the entire Mississppi River, a historically important part of the development of Memphis, my hometown. 

 The Diva wanted to go. She loves walking the Mississppi River replica when it’s nice and hot outside.

And, boy, was it!

Mammoo, who’s preggers with what currently looks like a chicken nugget, gagged all the way to the replica Gulf.

Anywho, when we got to the “Gulf of Mexico,” which was NOT filled with oil, the kids (The Diva and The Bubbe) wanted to rent a paddle boat and paddle around the pseudo-gulf.

Who’s The Bubbe?, you ask.

He’s the spawn of my younger sister, Mammoo, and Cueball, her esposo.

He’s been an only child for five years.

And he’s about to be a big brother.

He has a real name, but we never use it. We started calling him Bubba before he was born because we’re Southerners, and that’s what we do. Somehow, it got modified to be Bubbe, then The Bubbe. That’s what he is now.

His cousin is Tater, but that’s another story for another time.

The Bubbe likes cutting grass and eating bologna sandwiches.

He’s not too fond of water.

Which is why the paddle boats were a good idea, right?

So, they get on the boat: The Diva’s the captain (think Jack Sparrow with blue eyes and long eyelashes…brass knuckles in velvet), and The Bubbe’s her first mate.

Before they left, I asked the nice guy who worked the dock how deep the water is. He told me about 5 feet and asked why. I told him I needed to know how wet I was going to get when I had to go out there and get somebody because there was going to be crying before it was over.

Sure enough, 5 seconds into the trip, The Bubbe remembered he doesn’t like water and let ‘er rip.

Mammoo and I, trying to make a man  of him, told The Diva to make him stick it out.

Onlookers were staring and dialing Child Protective Service on their cell phones. They gave us the you’re-horrible-parental-figures stare.

It’s okay. This wasn’t my first trip down the river.

The Diva informed us that she was not listening to his wailing throughout her sail.

She then promptly paddled to the other side of the pseudo-gulf, pulled up to the shore, and pointed her finger.

“Get out,” she said.

And he did.

Here he is, post being put out.

Mammoo and I rode the paddle boats with The Diva and had a blast.

The Bubbee was benched.

Permanently.

And then he wanted to know why, when Mammoo and I rode the paddle boat with The Diva, it leaned to one side.

I told him that was because Mammoo’s chicken nugget weighed more than The Diva.