In true holiday spirit, we drove the back-splitting 4.5 hours to spend a week with my family. This is much better than the last 4 years of 6+ hour flights from California, with at least one layover, two screaming toddlers, carseat, diaper bag, two carry-on's, and a hubby who gets in a specific type of panic in crowds that induces a temporary lapse into Tourette's syndrome. BUT this is INFINITELY better than visiting the in-laws. Enough said about that.
I suppose everyone's family has the token black sheep cousin, or the grandma who talks insanely too loud, or the uncle who gets so shit faced and pees on the Christmas tree, but I never thought of my family being THAT crazy. At least until I was old enough to think for myself.
My aunt is a knitter. Some people are chefs, others businessmen, nurses, real estate agents, or homemakers. My aunt's true calling is knitting. Of course, she has a day job, that keeps her busy enough to say "CAN'T TALK! CALL LATER!" and slam the phone down when I call. She has two children, one of which has moved to Alaska (do I really need to explain?). Her house is immaculate, her dinner parties are only rivaled by tea time with the Queen, and her sewing skills make Martha Stewart jealous, which is where her nickname comes from. She is the Martha Stewart in our family. Okay, cool, hand-made sweaters, socks, scarves, and hats for the kids. The presents for us adults however, not so much. But still within the realm of sanity; odd but sane. Let's just say her husband golfs...a lot.
Where her yarn addiction gets weird is that she physically can not put this shit down. Mom and I would spend all day cooking dinner, and cleaning the house for company. The doorbell rings, and my aunt walks in without so much as a blink in our direction, makes a beeline for the couch with her overflowing bag of knitting supplies, and proceeds to clickity-clack her way into a stupor. She only pauses to scarf down dinner, while simultaneously, passive-aggressively insults the food, then leaves the table a good 15 min before everyone else to get back to her crack. She's even let my daughter play with her stitch counter once. OOOooooo. Ain't that nice.
The rest of my family, fairly normal. Grandma is quiet and giving. My cousin and I get along like sisters. Grampa doesn't show up. Okay, maybe that's not normal. But it's best for everybody. My mother is...my mother. My no less than 25 bottles of wine in house at all times, take pictures of my dirty dishes and laundry as "evidence", obsessive compulsive control freak mother. I get my wine addiction from her. And ta-da...there is the secret behind the name.
What are your crazy family stories? Do you have a knitter? Or drunks? Or is your family *GASP* sane?
