Our time here at Mom’s is coming to an end. Melissa and I are going to have a day-long argument about whether we leave before dawn (m’s choice) or later in the morning (my choice) so we can have one more relaxing morning.
Here is my family: Quiet. Calm. Sip tea. Gaze at twinkling lights. All watch a movie together. Take long, slow walks with dogs. Lounge about all day in your pajamas. Sipping tea.
Here is Mo’s family: Exactly the opposite.
And lo, there was much gaiety, and laughter from all corners of the house, and there were many TV’s you could hear, and we heard a blaring football game in the livingroom and a minister on the kitchen TV and morning radio talk show host also, and there were 20 people having 10 conversations what which they were all involved in somehow, and wine was guzzled by all the Ammican spouses, and it was good. Except that it gave me a headache. And I was hiding. Because my brain was about to explode.
Me and Melissa, we’re just cut from different cloth. I am of monochromatic hand-spun wool, and she is some sort of extremely brilliant, crazy-colored quilt. She can do the chaos thing. As my grandfather used to say, I have a one-track mind with eight tracks playing at once (when I’m at my in-laws’).
Arab-American in-law vocab:
“Ammican”: what my in-laws call me and my fellow caucasian marry-ins.
There’ll be a test on it. Tomorrow, when I get to Louisville. Whatever time that turns out to be.