Funcle

Everyone should have an uncle Will. My little brother (not that little, 6’5″) was made to be an uncle. He’s got every cartoon voice down to an art, he has unlimited energy and he’s built for rough-housing. Caroline loves him. Next to Grandma, he’s her favorite baby sitter.

I had a work party last night, so Will came to spend a few hours with C. In anticipation of his visit, Caroline announced, “I really like Will!” She then proceeded to color a picture, which she wanted prominently displayed next to our wedding photo (I mean it’s good kid, but not that good) so Will would see it.

By the time we returned home, every room in our house was covered in toys. Caroline had chocolate smeared all over her face. Will was sprawled out on the floor, exhausted. And then Caroline happily announced, “Mom, want to see me dunk?” Will taught her how to put her stool in front of the basketball hoop, jump off of it, and slam it home. “She only hit her head once,” Will told us. Right, I bet.

After he was gone, we put C to bed. I checked on her a few minutes later and she looked like she had stumbled home drunk and just face-planted onto her bed. She was laying the wrong direction with her legs dangling off the side, passed out cold. And that right there, is what uncles are for.