miscellaneous winter holiday

     My family is odd.

     See, I'm agnostic. My Grandma Zoe comes from an uptight Jewish family, my other grandmother, Gram Belle, believes in Ye Olde Pantheon of Gods of Blah blah blah.My mum's faith in a god was boosted substantially when she met her now-wife, my old librarian, Ms Baker, but it was boosted from negative ten to about a zero. My daughter, Influenza, is Jewish, in my opinion, for the latkes. My other daughter, Insomnia, I don't even know about her. I'm not sure she's bright enough to master a religion. ...Actually, I don't know about anyone else in the family. Or my friends. Not generally something we talk about. And yet...

     Here we are, setting up the Hanukkah Tree. It's just a plain (plastic) pine tree, but instead of the usual ornaments, it's decorated with dreidels and the occasional Star of David. The lights going around and around the branches shimmer blue and white. It's about half an hour until the Obligatory Christmanukkah Party. Insomnia is helping my son, Stevejer, put the star on top. He looks petrified that she'll drop him. I wouldn't be surprised. But, the star goes on, and she puts him back down safely. He looks shocked that he did it. I'm still not surprised. Insomnia grins, and goes off to the bathroom. She usually spends a good twenty minutes deciding how to look.

     Tristan, who isn't related to the family in any way, but used to babysit and never leaves, is trying to get some of the latkes Flu is making. My daughter, the latke tyrant, smacks his hand away with the spatula. I don't think it was covered in boiling grease, but with her, it's hard to tell. He rolls his eyes. "D****T, WOMAN, JUST GIVE ME THE FLIPPING SPUDCAKES," can be heard from the kitchen. If it turns out she's not a lesbian, I swear, those two will get married someday. Twenty minutes.

     Steve is working on his masterpiece. Steve is a writer. A bloody amazing writer. Steve is my main squeeze, and let me tell you, there is nothing I love more than to see him writing, because his air ends up looking like he's gone through a wind tunnel and occasionally there are even little splatters of ink on his face. It's pretty much adorable. Or sexy. Either of those will work. I love Steve. He's been really nervous about this party, I think. See, he thinks my mother hates him. For the record, she doesn't hate him so much as like to keep him on his toes. And when we started dating, she hit him a lot more than she does now. She's narrowed it down to only a few times a month, as opposed to a daily beatdown. Ten minutes.

     "Hey. Mum. Mum. Mum. Mum. Mum. MUM. Mum." My son. Oh, dear.

     "Yes, Stevidoodle?"

     "Lesbians. They're birds who like other birds, right?"

     "Yes, St- birds?"

     "My fault, Mrs. C!" I hear from the kitchen. Tristan. I could smack the kid. Five minutes.

     "Whap him with the spatula, Flu." A yelp from the kitchen. And to think, I was kidding. Mostly, I think Flu just likes injuring people.

     My Grams are probably about to show up - they're eighty or so years old and they like being early. They're my mum's mums - 'cause that's not confusing. They're lesbian. They met, fell in love, eloped, and adopted mum. Somewhere along the way, Gram Belle had my aunt Ellie. Ellie doesn't have kids. I always figured I'd end up like her - solitary by choice, no kids, doing what I love. Oh, well. I am still doing that last part, I suppose. One minute. Huge number of people incoming.

     Oh, I was wrong, my mum just charged into the living room, yelling for her grandkids to report. Flu hands Tristan the latke spatula and runs off to be hugged (and probably paid), which he takes with much enthusiasm. Mum has interesting nicknames for my kids - Infectious, Psychological, and It Junior. Stevejer returns that with Scary-In-Law, which is my dear husband's word for her. My grandmothers charge in behind. Gram Belle grabs Ms Baker around the waist with an encouraging yell of "Hey, Alec's Wife" and probably traumatizes the woman.

     There's no way to describe what happens when we're all together without sounding like something straight out of a Family Feel-Good Flick. Freaks though we may be, we're a family - all of us, be it by blood, marriage, or choice. I hate to admit it, but I love everyone here. Gram and Gram left about three hours ago. Mum and Ms Baker are in one of the guest rooms, Tristan's in another. We can't get the kid to leave for anything. Insomnia passed out a bit ago. She gets tired easily, ironically enough. Flu fell asleep on the couch. Stevejer's in his room, after much protesting. Steve and I are bundling up, getting ready to do our duties as the Hanukkah Zombie and Santa. It's snowing, but all I feel is warmth.

     I could die tomorrow, and be the happiest I've been my whole life.