Naturally the holidays were a busy time in the house, a place I have been seeing too rarely these days. I looked forward to spending an inordinate amount of time back at the homestead – two whole weeks of vacation time! You’re reading ahead of me, right? You knew there would not be two straight weeks of time away from the keyboard. And there wasn’t.
I arrived late in the day on Saturday to find one college bird home. Kristen arrived earlier in the week and was a godsend to Pamela in preparing for the familial onslaught. The onslaught itself began in earnest Monday evening with the arrival of two of the three married couples from Georgia and Texas. Both couples were bearing gifts, but one had an especially delicate one in the form of a grandson, all of 15 months old.
My official first day off work started with preparing weekly reports for work. Do you realize how difficult it is to sneak work under one’s wife’s nose? I finally admitted my transgression and assured her that it was an anomally. Yes, she and I knew I was lying.
The next day brought more family from Alabama and Oklahoma. Finally the entire family and its accessories were together: father, mother, seven children, three spouses and a grandchild. And that, my friends, is why I have a four-bedroom three-bath home. Even those accommodations proved limiting, but everyone was a great sport about it. At least I think they were. I didn’t hear any grumbling, but then I’m usually the last to know anything. That’s one of the perks of being the patriarch.
The only dent in the celebrations came the evening before Christmas Eve. Dearly Beloved chastised me for once again overshooting the kitchen sink and splashing water on the floor. I begged not forgiveness but innocence because I had been nowhere near the sink. The source of the water was not from the sink, but under the sink. For months Pamela had complained of excessive moisture beneath the sink. I traced the source to a clogged water filter and removed it. Yet a leak persisted. Only through coincidence did I experience a eureka moment; while I was looking under the sink with a flashlight and Krissy poured herself a cup of hot water from the dispenser and whoa! The fitting at the hot water dispenser was allowing the device to pour more on the floor than in the cup. No more instant hot water.
Insurance adjuster later told us that not only will the entire kitchen/breakfast room floor need to be replaced but the entire kitchen cabinet assembly as well. The base of the cabinet was rotted.
Papa reads
Still, Christmas must go on. And it did in full bore celebration. Christmas Eve started with the whole lot of us claiming an entire pew at the evening service. All were dressed in holiday attire content in the knowledge that all presents were wrapped and under the tree. The party followed with traditional fare including Pamela’s oft-requested sausage balls and so many other goodies that the sugarplum visions were replaced with Krissy’s sweet pecans. My oatmeal cookies didn’t make the cut for table presentation, so the crumbles were left in the Tupperware for later snacking.
Santa passed that evening, and at 7:00 a.m. the house was awakened with the young one clamoring for position in the line to the Christmas Tree. Everyone’s haul of booty was vast and seemed to satisfy even the most demanding list. Mimosas featured Coleman-grown oranges fresh from the tree. Gosh, I love free food! Well, truth be told those are the most expensive orange trees I ever owned. They’re included in the mortgage.
Another feast was shared, and through Pamela’s ingenuity with my “office” table, all 13 of us ate together in one room – truly an accomplishment equal to assembling a zeppelin. I thought we’d need the VAC at Kennedy Space Center, but we were quite comfortable.
The only downside of the holidays was seeing the family off one by one and two by two (yes, three by three, sadly). But memories of a drama-free holiday was sure to last for quite a while.
The New Year’s arrival was greeted with take-out and legal fireworks. The cul-de-sac at SE 29th St rivaled LC-39 for spectacular launches. Everyone was awake at midnight, strangely enough. Of course Graham napped prior, but he was rested and ready when the second hand bid adieu to 2008.
BFS
After my fortnight sojourn I travel back to my bachelor pad on wheels in Louisiana and have to watch the bowl games alone. Well, not all bowl games. Only two were of interest to me: the Fiesta Bowl and the BCS National Championship. With children attending or having attended both the University of Texas and the University of Oklahoma I had vested interest in both contests.
Both matchups provided great sports entertainment and lots of nail-biting, if I were prone to such stuff. So I’m left with a celebration factor if .500 as my Longhorns triumphed while my Sooners were vanquished.
I realized that BFS, or bowl fatigue syndrome, is not really effected by the outcome of the game. It just drags on you the next day so much so that you do not have the strength to savor the victory or salve the wound.
I barely have a moment to catch my breath. Mardi Gras season started January 6th and beads are already competing with Valentines in Wal Mart. I’m heading out to the store now for vitamins and something for MGFS.
Categories: What was I thinking?
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