Christmas at the in-laws
—in dedication to Grand Ma(rnier) and the Baby Jesus

I have begun my own holiday tradition of gossiping about Christmas at my brother’s in-laws.

No mistake! My brother’s in-laws are LOVELY. They are great characters…and great characters make for great stories. Especially at Christmastime, which happens to be my bubba’s mother-in-law’s most favorite time of the year. Gail is a sweet southern Georgia peach and she just LOVES loves LOVES her some Christmas! When I speak of her, I must use them ex-cla-mations! She listens to Christmas music in secret year round- it’s a fact! Her house is painted in red and green- that’s a fact too! Every other year, she buys more presents than the grandchildren have energy to open. Have you ever seen a child crying in exhaustion at having to open too many Christmas presents? It’s strangely cruel and pathetic and one of America’s best hush-hush secrets and it makes me freaking crazy to imagine such torture…and yet… As much as Gail loves Christmas, I love hearing my brother’s stories about a generous Christmas at the in-laws.

The standard Christmas Eve gift is a surprise set of matching pajamas for all. Mom, dad, daughters, their husbands, and the grandchildren are all in on this eerie Grizwald-esq tradition in which everybody’s GOTS to wear their Christmas pajamas Christmas morning without exception. My brother hates this part, but I revel in it. It’s gentle karma for all the humiliation he extolled on my other kid brother and me growing up. Now, as a grown adult, he’s forced into a lifetime of Christmas mornings in pajamas with Yoda and shit on them. It’s like a special present that I may have begged the baby Jesus for when I was a little girl, and now the miracle happens year after year.

Christmas day Gail’s jerk off brother shows up late every year, and graces the in-laws with a stunning portraiture of himself with wife and kids. Every year father-in-law is the first to snatch the present up from the under the tree and open it accompanied by obnoxious commentary. It usually begins with ‘I KNOW WHAT THIS IS…’ and then devolves into something uncomfortable for all in earshot. He shakes the box and declares something shitty like ‘I hope it’s like toilet paper for me to wipe my ass with!’ or else ‘I’ll bet it’s a pictures of the Munsters!’ or ‘Honey, get the trash can ready…’ Each year it’s different, it’s edgy, it’s a detail I beg my brother to give.

Honorable mention at our house goes to:
The big day ended with the dog-child getting the squirts from tamales- my mom finding piles most popular around the nativity scene with its tiny sheep lying sideways.
The baby Jesus’ (Christ-christ Baby!) thoughtful delivery of Grand Ma(rnier)
Tony’s game of ‘Break the Ice’ that did do just that.
Tour of AA flight academy flight simulators (“What exactly does happen if you wreck…?”)
My favorite gifts being those most dangerous; a kiln and a set of Japanese steel knives. Who would have thought the state would ever allow…?
Mother’s very scientific beef tenderloin with gorgonzola sauce