Once a year, the family is drawn as if by magical, beer-enhancing moonlight to a place far out in the boondock fields of Michigan. We all go there, pulled by an invisible force, to renew our magic and begin the new year frolicking and hay-dancing under the harvest moon in the fields amongst gossiping hillbillies, uncles with babysitter-wives, and 65 babies.
Since we’re the only ones who live far away, generally events are planned around us. So that means a 7 to 14 hour car ride usually. And since no one has a big enough house to let us stay, we usually end up in a motel. This year we stayed with my mom’s friend and her husband on a 76-acre farm. They’re quiet, sort of quaint people, and thus begun our adventure.
They also had horses, so that was fun. I smelled like fire and horse poop for the entire time. (Ily horses, but seriously, you have a poopload of poop.)
Upon getting into Michigan, thus began the Dubious Vegetarianism portion of my trip. Generally when I get into Michigan, I try to just stock up on the cheesy potatoes and cheesy broccoli and stay away from the cheesy beef and the cheesy bacon/venison lard dip (both of which were hits at Christmas dinner).
So when we get to Christmas (at my aunt’s house: only house big enough. Actually, only house.), it is already chaotic. As said, there are like 65 children-babies under 5. The new one (we were trying to guess her name on the way over. Rodney? Quigley?) is named Sydney, probably a boy’s name since no one can seem to have a boy in this family.
Present opening, even with everyone messily ripping open their presents at the same time, takes six hours. From two till eight. Presents are usually stacked not only under the tree, but under the dining room table, chairs, in the kitchen, bedrooms, lined along the walls of the family room and dining room, and also in the rafters in the garage. I have never heard anyone ever say in disgust, ‘There’s more presents under the chair.’ And I have never heard a two year old say ‘We have a LOT of presents, mommy.’
Last year my uncle got a roll of ‘poop’ smeared toilet paper as a gift (it was chocolate actually).
Speaking of poop, that’s pretty much what our family talks about. Poop, farts, butts, you name it. It is all ridiculously hilarious. Especially when we all sit down to play poker and most everyone’s had a few. And swears of course just make every story a gem.
Sitting around the poker table is the best time to listen to everyone. My grandma sits quietly in a corner, farts, and then laughs, my aunt screams ‘Scooby dooby dooby, I want bigger boobies’, and my uncles are…well…
yeah.
At one or two in the morning my sister, mom and Doug and I leave. Two in the morning is not the best time to be driving around the boondocks and to get lost and have to pull over onto a scary dirt road with trees that have signs on them that say ‘Property of the Gun Club'. Especially when your family looks like this:
Sister was overtired and, somewhere out there, there is a chart where her smartassosity goes up with her tiredness. My mom, on the other hand, has enriched vocabulary when she’s overtired. It is all a very interesting and impressive combination of ‘ass’, ‘stupid’, ‘hat’, ‘smart’, ‘jerk’, ‘shit’, 'dork', and ‘f***’.
I, on the other hand, was just thinking about how in Jurassic Park, this was where we were going to get eaten by a T rex.
All in all, a very eventful year. I can’t wait until next year: more babies, poop, swearing, beer, sweat, cheesy beef, and love. 2011 here I come.
