Today is Thanksgiving, that day of the year when my grandma Lois wants the whole family in her house for dinner. Let me elaborate: the whole thirty-four member family, and possibly friends, in her lovely but small 1940's style house. Twelve of those 34 members are children under the age of 10 (and one is a flying monkey). Cap this off with the fact that Grandma has a little yard, the weather has recently grown COLD and Grandma and Grandpa like it quiet and calm. Like REALLY like it quiet and calm.
And did I mention that Grandma went to the hospital the day after Thanksgiving a couple of years ago from all the stress of trying to keep everyone quiet? At least that's what we think it was. Or the stress of everyone not being quiet despite her stern looks.
So last night my mother called me. She had that tone between anger and hysteria that means "Look, don't discuss, just do this."
"Hi," she said. "Do you have Apples Junior?"
What the heck?
"You know, she explained. The Apples to Apples game, the junior version?"
"Uh, yes?"
"Bring it tomorrow. We've got to keep the kids occupied."
THIS is supposed to keep the kids occupied? "Where's Minon," (my cousin) I ask. "Isn't she doing some song and dance?"
"Minon has pneumonia," my mother answers in a way that says, "How dare you try and discuss this--JUST BRING THE GAME!"
So there you have it. The plan: keep the twelve children occupied, over half of which can't read, playing a game where reading is important--a game it was proven they didn't even like up camping this year.
Here is what I think really happened:
My aunt Sindi (or possibly my grandma) asked my mom to get me to entertain the children. Seeing as how they already make me run the Christmas pageant and have all the kids decorate Easter eggs at my house, my mom knew that asking me to be the party manager this Thanksgiving would go over about as well as forcing me to wear knickers in public again. So she decided that asking me to bring this game would take care of everything: the kids would be entertained and I wouldn't have a fit.
Here's the deal. The kids will not be entertained, not even the older ones.
Do I want my grandma to die? NO.
So now I have to come up with a plan all my own, not even having been asked.
My real plan is to recharge all the Gameboys and DS's we own. Also the phones with games on them. I'll also pack a frisbee, a football, a soccer ball and WARM clothes/jackets/etc. Maybe even the rollerblades. Coloring books and markers are a must--washable markers. And maybe Husker-Du and a flannel book. Then I will play all of these things simultaneously with all the children. Quietly. Oh boy. I can't wait.
Oh, and of course I'll bring Apples to Apples.
Wish me and Grandma luck.
So why, you may ask, does Grandma want to do this every year?
The answer is that she was an only child. She would watch those early shows on television where huge families would gather around a single football field size table in peace and harmony to eat. She wanted that. She has that. She loves that. And she is the only one with a table like that. So when we have Thanksgiving somewhere else, she feels gypped. It's not her dream--her childhood wish being fulfilled.
But let me just say that the Flying Monkey would have eaten those black and white television families alive.
I'll have to remember to bring the cage, too.
And did I mention that Grandma went to the hospital the day after Thanksgiving a couple of years ago from all the stress of trying to keep everyone quiet? At least that's what we think it was. Or the stress of everyone not being quiet despite her stern looks.
So last night my mother called me. She had that tone between anger and hysteria that means "Look, don't discuss, just do this."
"Hi," she said. "Do you have Apples Junior?"
What the heck?
"You know, she explained. The Apples to Apples game, the junior version?"
"Uh, yes?"
"Bring it tomorrow. We've got to keep the kids occupied."
THIS is supposed to keep the kids occupied? "Where's Minon," (my cousin) I ask. "Isn't she doing some song and dance?"
"Minon has pneumonia," my mother answers in a way that says, "How dare you try and discuss this--JUST BRING THE GAME!"
So there you have it. The plan: keep the twelve children occupied, over half of which can't read, playing a game where reading is important--a game it was proven they didn't even like up camping this year.
Here is what I think really happened:
My aunt Sindi (or possibly my grandma) asked my mom to get me to entertain the children. Seeing as how they already make me run the Christmas pageant and have all the kids decorate Easter eggs at my house, my mom knew that asking me to be the party manager this Thanksgiving would go over about as well as forcing me to wear knickers in public again. So she decided that asking me to bring this game would take care of everything: the kids would be entertained and I wouldn't have a fit.
Here's the deal. The kids will not be entertained, not even the older ones.
Do I want my grandma to die? NO.
So now I have to come up with a plan all my own, not even having been asked.
My real plan is to recharge all the Gameboys and DS's we own. Also the phones with games on them. I'll also pack a frisbee, a football, a soccer ball and WARM clothes/jackets/etc. Maybe even the rollerblades. Coloring books and markers are a must--washable markers. And maybe Husker-Du and a flannel book. Then I will play all of these things simultaneously with all the children. Quietly. Oh boy. I can't wait.
Oh, and of course I'll bring Apples to Apples.
Wish me and Grandma luck.
So why, you may ask, does Grandma want to do this every year?
The answer is that she was an only child. She would watch those early shows on television where huge families would gather around a single football field size table in peace and harmony to eat. She wanted that. She has that. She loves that. And she is the only one with a table like that. So when we have Thanksgiving somewhere else, she feels gypped. It's not her dream--her childhood wish being fulfilled.
But let me just say that the Flying Monkey would have eaten those black and white television families alive.
I'll have to remember to bring the cage, too.
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