Grampa

Hay Ride

Father & Daughter

Trampoline Jumping

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My grandparents just celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary. My mom is the eldest of their 5 kids, all of whom live within a few hours of one another. There are 12 grandchildren and 9 great-grandchildren also all within a few hours radius.

Almost all of us get together at least twice a year for Thanksgiving and Easter and maybe once more a year for a wedding.

It makes keeping tabs (see: checking up on tattoos, boyfriends, unemployment, etc) much more personable than MySpace or Facebook.

We’re pretty traditional: divorces, step-kids, the gays, the rich uncle, the losers, the smart ones, the holy rollers, the cousin with 4 kids and 3 baby daddys. We make dirty jokes, we do vodka shots, we know who to talk to about politics, we know when not to mention the extra 20 pounds packed on. We laugh really loudly together, we play cornhole, we watch each other’s kids on the trampoline, we pick their tangerines on the way out, we swing under the oak tree and on the porch for hours judging whispering to about each other.

You know, the perfect family.

My mom asked to keep my girls for the night of Thanksgiving (tonight). HECK YEAH! I’m all about getting a few hours to ourselves. (No, there’s no hint-hint in there.)

But when the husband and I were making our rounds of goodbyes tonight, nearly every aunt, uncle, cousin, and grandparent gave us the ole “YOU’RE-GONNA-TOTALLY-DO-IT-TONIGHT-RIGHT?” look.

Uhhhhhhh… We kinda might have, but now that you mentioned it, there’s no way we can enjoy our happy-no-kids Fun Time with your faces in our heads.

Thanks, Grampa. You totally ruined my boner.