Family Reunions
If I hadn’t talked to other people, if I didn’t know that we weren’t unusual, or, heaven forbid, bad parents, I wouldn’t be writing this. I would go to my grace in silence. Respectful silence.
However, I must say that the first couple of days of the first “yours, mine and ours,” family-wide Elder Reunion were a night-mare. I uttered those immortal words, the motto of every over-indulgent, hysterical, “we will all be happy because I said so, crazed mom since the beginning of time.” I WILL NEVER DO THIS AGAIN IF I LIVE TO BE A MILLION YEARS OLD!
I had planned it all out. We were going to a dude ranch in Southern Utah with all eight of our kids for a four-day holiday that would last from Thursday through Sunday. Everyone seemed excited. A couple of the kids couldn’t come, but most would be there bright and ready to go Thursday at noon.
We had to be on time because the ranch had a camp counselor to make plans with Horseback riding. Ten a.m. Friday morning, line dancing. Five-thirty Saturday afternoon, a family rodeo. To me, sounded great. We would be organized and busy and involved-no hanging around, no whining, we would all do things together and grow to love one another. We would learn about the old West, we would rope and brand and tie and…
Horse Manure.
On Thursday morning, no one could be there at noon; our family rodeo would go un-rode, our counselor waiting in lonely confusion when no one showed up. I took it all personally, of course, because that’s how I’ve been trained. If there are floods in Bangladesh, if you can’t find your new shorts or your hair dryer, if you wake up in a bad mood, it’s my fault.
When everyone finally arrived, they were appalled that our vacation was anyone’s business. The horseback riders didn’t want to amble down a trail in a line of horses led by some yahoo from California. Half the group wanted to rent ATV’s. The horseback-ers waid, “Wow, that’s a great idea, why don’t we rent a boat too?”
The rodeo sounded like a Miss 4H competition: dressing sheep and chasing calves to untie a ribbon—everyone thought it was dumb, dumb, dumb. There was no air conditioning and it was 95 degrees outside. The only thing anyone liked was the food.
Well, I thought, so much for writing about our family reunion. This is a disaster. It won’t be like those stories in the women’s magazines where the cheerful mother manages to turn it all around.
This is what I thought as I rode in a long line of trail-trained horsed behind Kyle, my ten-year old grandson from California. He was having a great time. Mike, my grandmother’s boyfriend trotted on up ahead on his first horseback ride. I was having fun. Half of us showed up for the line dancing and the other half watched for laughs. We rented ATV’s for a day and fished as the boat puttered around the lake.
People started saying things like, “Jessica is really cool, I never realized she was so funny.” We got used to being cooled by a breeze and had faith that it would get better at night. We ate a yummy dinner down by the riverside, and sat on a big rock in the stream talking until 11, watching the moon rise and the owls hunt.
My husband sewed my lips shut. Somehow it got better.
On the way home, I got out the map; my eyes lit on Flaming Gorge. Yessiree, next year’s reunion! We’ll all play together and bond and…
It’s okay, I’ll just bring the horse manure.
However, I must say that the first couple of days of the first “yours, mine and ours,” family-wide Elder Reunion were a night-mare. I uttered those immortal words, the motto of every over-indulgent, hysterical, “we will all be happy because I said so, crazed mom since the beginning of time.” I WILL NEVER DO THIS AGAIN IF I LIVE TO BE A MILLION YEARS OLD!
I had planned it all out. We were going to a dude ranch in Southern Utah with all eight of our kids for a four-day holiday that would last from Thursday through Sunday. Everyone seemed excited. A couple of the kids couldn’t come, but most would be there bright and ready to go Thursday at noon.
We had to be on time because the ranch had a camp counselor to make plans with Horseback riding. Ten a.m. Friday morning, line dancing. Five-thirty Saturday afternoon, a family rodeo. To me, sounded great. We would be organized and busy and involved-no hanging around, no whining, we would all do things together and grow to love one another. We would learn about the old West, we would rope and brand and tie and…
Horse Manure.
On Thursday morning, no one could be there at noon; our family rodeo would go un-rode, our counselor waiting in lonely confusion when no one showed up. I took it all personally, of course, because that’s how I’ve been trained. If there are floods in Bangladesh, if you can’t find your new shorts or your hair dryer, if you wake up in a bad mood, it’s my fault.
When everyone finally arrived, they were appalled that our vacation was anyone’s business. The horseback riders didn’t want to amble down a trail in a line of horses led by some yahoo from California. Half the group wanted to rent ATV’s. The horseback-ers waid, “Wow, that’s a great idea, why don’t we rent a boat too?”
The rodeo sounded like a Miss 4H competition: dressing sheep and chasing calves to untie a ribbon—everyone thought it was dumb, dumb, dumb. There was no air conditioning and it was 95 degrees outside. The only thing anyone liked was the food.
Well, I thought, so much for writing about our family reunion. This is a disaster. It won’t be like those stories in the women’s magazines where the cheerful mother manages to turn it all around.
This is what I thought as I rode in a long line of trail-trained horsed behind Kyle, my ten-year old grandson from California. He was having a great time. Mike, my grandmother’s boyfriend trotted on up ahead on his first horseback ride. I was having fun. Half of us showed up for the line dancing and the other half watched for laughs. We rented ATV’s for a day and fished as the boat puttered around the lake.
People started saying things like, “Jessica is really cool, I never realized she was so funny.” We got used to being cooled by a breeze and had faith that it would get better at night. We ate a yummy dinner down by the riverside, and sat on a big rock in the stream talking until 11, watching the moon rise and the owls hunt.
My husband sewed my lips shut. Somehow it got better.
On the way home, I got out the map; my eyes lit on Flaming Gorge. Yessiree, next year’s reunion! We’ll all play together and bond and…
It’s okay, I’ll just bring the horse manure.
Comments