and(a) family

i was laughing, and you were there, too.

and so were the dogs, the sweet one and the evil one, but both seeming so sweet tonight, with their brown eyes pleading for us to take them home.

but we don't, we can't, instead we play round upon round of Sequence in the basement. sequestered for the moment, by necessity or choice, i can't really tell. maybe a little of both.

we're called for dinner, christmas dinner, and we look at each other. you roll your eyes a little, and i wrinkle my nose. you are my family, and i am yours. and the rest is the rest.

no one else cares for that way of thinking. but it doesn't matter much, because we are each other's family. and the rest is the rest. we make do. you smile and dutifully haul garbage and loads of christmas presents to cars. i smile and try to limit my use of four-letter words.
but in the basement we play Sequence and smile for real and the "fucks" are flying right and left and in between plays we make up rude lyrics for christmas songs.

it's church time, and i let you fight that battle alone. i would go; i brought a brown shirt and skirt and even pantyhose. but you say you won't go; don't want to go. whispering. i can't hear what you are saying, but it goes pretty well. i am not necessarily even christian, you tell me. let's keep that to ourselves for right now, i say. you did. in the hour we're alone, we laugh a lot. and vent. and when they return, we are okay, because we had our own hour of family time.

i am in the spare bedroom reading a book on the bed. my niece walks in, and somehow i start a game of beanie baby basketball with her. soon we are standing on the bed chucking beanies all over the room, off the walls, we giggle and make up rules as we go. i'm not sure grandma will appreciate us throwing beanie babies at her wall, i say, but we don't quit. when we go upstairs my niece announces that she is ahead, 23-20. grandma didn't care at all that we were throwing stuff against the wall; instead she congratulates britta and smiles at me. and i smile back for real.

we play dice for small prizes. i have my eye on a card game and a book. my six-year-old niece is excited beyond belief because a Hannah Montana CD sits on the prize table. i roll doubles on my first two tries and nab the card game and the book. i roll doubles again and again and again. it's almost embarassing. i choose more prizes, an ice scraper, a necklace, a DVD. my niece is looking more concerned with every roll. finally, she scores the Hannah CD and every one else gets a few prizes, too. you are sitting next to the prizes. i ask you to choose for me after a few rounds, hoping you will choose something you want. because even when we play individually, we are still a team. you choose all things you think i will want most and hand them across the table to me. typical.

it snows for the drive home, making the roads treacherous, but the scenery is beautiful. we've always enjoyed driving together. we stop in to see more family. in the ten minutes we're inside, our dog, the sweet one, eats two slabs of roast beef and sixteen christmas cookies that got sent home with us. we laugh. we weren't going to eat the food, anyway, we only took it to be polite.

more family for dinner again, but at least we don't need to watch our mouths with this family. this side of the family is decidedly more crude. our christmas tree looks pretty and the snow keeps piling up outside. it would be a perfect night to stay in by ourselves, just our own little family, but the rest are here, too. it works out okay anyway. we walk the dogs out in the snow and everything has somehow turned out all right.

but we're glad it's over, happy to be back to our simple little life, where we are each other's family, and the rest will always be the rest.