Holiday Hoopla: Take 2 (See post below for part 1.)
Now I remember why I stopped blogging every single day. No one had time to read my ramblings that often. But, even though there are very few comments from readers of my last post, I’m forging ahead with part two, because… damn it, I said I would.
I was positive the weekend was going to suck. In my head, Kanye sang, “n- n- now th- that don't kill me, can only make me stronger.” I’m pretty ghetto, but you probably already know that about me. After all the internal singing and whining, I’d built up such a resistance to any potential shit to come my way that nothing could phase me.
We arrived at my mom’s and all was right with the world. She loved her new grand-doggers. They, by the way, made the two-hour trip without so much as a piddle or a bark. My mind had conjured up all sorts of roadside havoc, but we were off to a good start.
Mom, as always, gave me as much shit as she possibly could, because, hey, she is my mom. She did hug me awful tight, though, and that felt good. I almost forgot how much I missed that crazy woman… until she opened her mouth again.
My sisters and their broods began arriving. When Mary and her gang of thugs showed up they were loud and excited about a hawk they saw in a tree. That’s when you know you have been in the city too long, folks. My nephew Marvin took a picture of it with his cell phone.
As everyone else arrived, Mary excitedly said, “Marvin, show ‘em the picture. Oh man, you guys won’t believe it!”
I doubt anyone was as excited as Mary. Even Marvin began to regret capturing the photo. “Alright already with the hawk, Ma!” Them thar city folk are funny.
At our house, we have to keep the puppies on a short leash in the yard because of the hawks nesting in our trees. It isn’t unusual to see them swoop down and take off with a bunny. Mary ought to visit us more often so she could use all that excitement on something, more, um… exciting.
Anita took care of the turkey and most of the last minute sides. She is the best of the bunch. The rest of us are rotten, lazy, no good mothers. I’m not even just buttering her buns. She really was all over that kitchen like Julia, God rest her drunken little soul, Child, on a bottle of Sherry.
Mary brought the ham. Angie came with her world-renowned store-bought desserts. I can’t be entirely sure of that since we bailed as soon as we were done eating dinner. Seriously, the food was on the table at 5:20, rather than 3:00 like my mom said it would be. We were in our car by, and I am not kidding, 5:40. When I say dine and dash, I’m not joking around.
Even though we were two-and-a-half hours behind schedule for our eight-and-a-half hour drive, it was… okay. Because my mind had decided we would be five hours behind schedule, two hours seemed like a friggin’ cake walk.
I also brought desserts. However, I actually used this crazy new contraption called, a stove, to make mine. Angie apparently has stovophobia. Mary used to have it too, until her tragic Jell-o accident. She got her hand caught in a hand mixer by hitting turbo instead of eject. See, Kanye is right, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Go Mary! Perhaps one day, Angie can get her tit caught in a George Forman Grill and manage to shake that fear too. Until then, I guess PapaRoach and the kids will have to do the cooking. Did I mention those two freaks are getting married on December 5th? Congratulations early, kids. Do everything I wouldn’t do.
Anyhow, Anita and I ate some of Mary’s poisoned ham as we worked in the kitchen. Did I say poisoned? I meant delicious. Yeah, that’s what I meant. Then as we were cutting the lamb Mom made, we sampled that too. It was as good as any gamy piece of meat can get, I suppose. Angie couldn’t help because she had an ear ache. I was going to call the whaaambulance for her but she frowned upon my suggestion. Whatever.
I also tried to get the big baby to try putting Vick’s Vapor Rub in her ear with a cotton ball. It’s an old home remedy that Nanny Lane used for ear aches and infections. It worked so well on Lane 1 that he didn’t have to have the ear tube surgery his doctor insisted he was going to need due to repeated ear infections. Nanny Lane said it draws all of the fluid from behind the eardrum. I hope that little brat’s ear fell off by now for not listening to Nanny Lane, who undoubtedly spoke through me from the grave. I can see it now, The One-Eared Bride. Now that’s hot, Angie.
Congo who also was helping in the kitchen, looks damn good for a guy who just had two heart attacks and heart surgery. I don’t understand why he didn’t milk his situation. Angie used her ear for all it was worth and then some. And if I had been in his state of health, I would have grabbed hold of my chest immediately if someone asked me to lift a finger. Congo is a good guy, or just a sucker, hard to tell.
None of the other guys, including Mr. Lane, lifted a finger to help, so Anita and I put Ex-lax in their dessert. Okay, maybe we didn’t but I really thought about it for a minute or twenty.
Since this is already crazy long, I’ll get to the in-laws visit next time.
Oh, before I go, maybe another public service announcement is in order. Yeah, being a mommy again, this time to puppies, it is my obligation to raise awareness in this scary world. If you are too lazy to drag out the vacuum and just go around picking up the obvious crumbs, dust bunnies and leafs, make sure the dead leaf on the floor is really a leaf and not a poo-poo ball from one of your puppies. I’m just sayin’.
I am Lois Lane and I approve this message.