Tag Archives: Family

I went to L.A. and brought him a toy train on a string. I figured it would go over well, and it did. I wasn’t really surprised.

He is my brother’s son, after all.

He dragged the train around with him, and then he showed it to Rand.

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We are standing in a small courtyard in Munich, when I start acting like my mother, and my brother starts acting exactly like himself. Which, in this instance, means that he’s taken his son’s hand and is pretending to punch things.

He even makes the appropriate “Pssht! Pssht!” punching noises.

And then -god help me – HE PRETENDS TO PUNCH HIS SON.

And sometimes, he had the baby punch him.

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“EDWARD,” I snap.

“What?”

“Stop punching your baby.”

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My father lives in a rural part of Bavaria, surrounded by farmland. The air is rich with the smell of cows and manure, and traffic jams are caused by tractors. Should you think I am being hyperbolic on that last point:

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My brain is a weensy bit fried. I’m in California, so blogging will be a little slow/light for the rest of the week. I’m visiting my aunt who just had heart surgery yesterday (and since I know you guys will ask, because you are thoughtful like that, she is doing wonderfully. Thank you for your concern.)

My mom has barely left her side, and I’ve been keeping the two of them company as best I can. This means that for the past 2 days, the three of us have been hanging out in the ICU (my mom even spends the night there). My aunt has spent much of this time sleep off her anesthesia.

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I know this picture is blurry, but it’s still kind of magical. My mom was angry because I was doing dishes in her house.

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Dear Mom,

Please don’t read this post, okay? No, no, it’s not because I talk about how crazy you are. Sheesh, mom … Yes, I know you aren’t crazy. Yes, I realize I make you out to be crazier than you actually are on the blog. The reason I don’t want you to read this post is because it’s about your Mother’s Day gift. We don’t want to ruin the surprise, right? Of course we don’t.

So go browse some other site, okay? Like Facebook! You love Facebook.

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Sometimes, I take for granted how much my husband puts up with.

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Indeed, that might be the understatement of the year. If my beloved is reading this, he’s probably done a spit take all over his computer while sputtering, “YOU THINK?”

My poor, maligned love. He puts up with a lot. From me. And during the holidays, from his in-laws, too. Which I argue is his fault.

I mean, I was born into them. I had no choice. He walked right into this situation, mostly sober. THE FOOL.

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My dear, confusing mother.

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I’ve just returned from California. I spent several days spent in the company of my family, which is always a fascinating experience. Nothing makes me question reality more.

I’ve tried explaining to my friends that my relations see things differently than the rest of the world, but my point is often lost.

“All families are insane,” they say, nodding sympathetically. And then they’ll tell me about some aunt of theirs with an excessive collection of hat pins and no hats, and laugh at how ridiculous the whole thing is.

Hat pins! How delightfully zany!

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Sometimes, I suck.

I mean, big time. Several of you are reading those lines and thinking, “Oh, yes, I know. I was just about to leave a comment on your blog expressing that EXACT same sentiment.”

Others of you are thinking, “Well, sure, you suck, but who among us does not?” And for your gracious understanding, I thank you.

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