Well, hi there! You haven’t changed one bit. I apologize for the unannounced summer hiatus– but now that fall is here, let’s get back to our normally scheduled programming, shall we?
We’ll pick up right where we left off: when my in-laws came to visit. Now, when I was in college, my Daddy would periodically sit me down, look me hard in the eyes and remind me that you marry the family. It was his mantra—honey, you’re going to be spending a lot of time with your husband’s family. Make sure you like them. I am deliriously thankful that I genuinely adore the family that became mine when Kellan and I said “I do”—in no small part because the thought of pretending to enjoy people for the rest of my life is positively exhausting.
Russ and Gina arrived in Albany on a Friday night. Now, let’s you and I get one thing straight: there are only two men on the planet that I will make a Key Lime pie for, Russ and my Dad. Frankly, I have neither the time nor the inclination for dessert that isn’t chocolate, but for the fathers in my life I gladly make an exception. Thus, 10:00 PM the night before the Dickens arrived found me baking a homemade key lime pie with a mind-numbingly divine graham cracker walnut crust that made the whole house smell of heaven by way of Amish country. Unfortunately, one clandestine bite of the startlingly bitter filling had me promptly scraping the entire thing out of my cheery red pie plate and straight into the trash. I started all over again at 11:30 because PETERSONS DON’T MESS AROUND WITH THEIR PIES.
Russ and Gina landed, and proceeded to ooh and ahh over our [SPARKLINGLY CLEAN] new house. Gina graciously overlooked my wine box tv stand and barren white walls, gushing instead about the natural light pouring through our oversized windows. The next morning, I sleepily waltzed downstairs looking like something on sale at a consignment store, and discovered my amused Father-in-law with a wide grin on his face. Ash, I was just wondering…do you have any milk that isn’t rancid?
APPARENTLY, prior to their arrival I had been too busy scrubbing the baseboards with a toothbrush to check the date on our milk. As the color drained from my panicked face into my pedicured toes, I had an overwhelming urge to channel the old couple in Titanic, slink back to bed, and pretend it wasn’t happening.
We sorted out the milk [I DIE], and he then casually asked me where my toaster was.
The thing about toasters is ours caught on fire two weeks into our marriage, and I promptly threw it down the garbage chute and never bought another one because CHEAP. [Also, effort.] Thus, every time you want toast at my house, you have to channel your inner Laura Ingalls Wilder, set the oven to 375 and wait seven minutes. The whole thing is very Little House on the Prairie, with fewer Indian raids and less cholera. Russ’ baffled eyes widened as I relayed this information, unable to wrap his modern mind around the wholesome, pioneer lifestyle that Kellan and I had unwittingly embraced. You’re getting a toaster for Christmas.
Well. Something to look forward to.
On Saturday afternoon, Kellan and Russ ventured off for some father-son bonding time while Gina and I shopped and drank outrageously overpriced iced coffees. Arriving back at the house, we collapsed on the couch where I proceeded to turn on “My 600 Pound Life” because I like to heckle the enablers that keep traipsing in the front door with oblivious smiles and sixteen Happy Meals in tow. Gina, however, was so horrified at the whole thing that she had to escape upstairs to take a nap. Meanwhile, I practiced looking penitent in case I had to explain to Kellan why I watched trash tv with his Mama.
On Saturday night, I decided to make Greek food—because if a gyro doesn’t make you happy, I can do nothing for you. Unfortunately, I became overly excited whilst chopping cucumbers, and ever so daintily sent an economy-sized container of feta cheese unceremoniously tumbling to the floor, causing the whole house to smell distinctly like a pack filthy hobbits with severe bowel troubles were squatting in the kitchen.
All in all, the weekend was a rousing success. :) We laughed until our stomachs hurt, and I took a thousand mental snapshots, bottling up memories to tuck away and savor for the rest of my life. There isn’t anything more dear to me in the world than spending time with my family.
…and not just because I’ll be the proud owner of a toaster come Christmastime. ;)