I Miss You

(I wrote this up a few days ago and even published for about an hour. Then I changed my mind because I thought it sounded a bit whiny. Then Jeff made an appearance in the comments section of yesterday's post and I got all misty again. Also, one of my best friends from Utah called and as we talked my heart was tugged toward the Western Present, as opposed to my watered down past. So If you are in the mood for some whining and want to indulge in my nostalgia, read on. And if this post makes you roll your eyes at me and say "grow up, be grateful," that's okay, too.)

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It's that time of year again. The time when I start to feel more lonely and weepy than I do at any other time. The time when I feel more like Eeyore and less like Tigger and Roo.

I feel like Max did when he had settled down after his Wild Rumpus with the Wild Things.

I long to be where someone loves me best.

Even though I am selfish, and lazy, and can get a little ornery.

I want to be with those of you who know me inside out and like me anyway.

It's been a long time since I stood in my aunt's kitchen and single-handedly consumed an entire bowl of homemade salsa and washed it down with the pleasant taste of my foot.

It's been even longer since I played games into the wee morning hours with Jeff and Andrew and Robert with the kids sleeping in their beds.

I miss spontaneous Sunday Sing-A-Longs that chase Uncle Scott and Quinn into the basement.

I miss Chelsea making fun of the time I sat on a pair of scissors when we were playing "The Arsenio Hall Show."

I miss April's unlimited supply of hospitality and Suzie's basement window displays. I miss their food, and their laughter.

I even miss their hugs. (I know, right? I never thought I would miss hugs from my in-laws, but I do. I do.)

I miss laughing with my husband's family till we cry.

I miss talking Robert's dad into playing late night games of charades and Celebrity Challenge. To this day I point to my outer thigh anytime I need to pantomime "ham."

I miss Thanksgivings from my childhood where dad would show up with random guests. Sara, do you remember when that Leonard guy showed us how to crunch up a coke can and make it look like art? I kept that Coke can for years. I even moved it to our new house.

Do you remember the year that we caught the napkins on fire as we passed the rolls over the lit candles?

I still remember the year that our mother and her sisters introduced New Wave JELL-O. That was revolutionary. I wonder if they thought we would still be making it twenty years later.

Those are my favorite traditions. Accidental and non-contrived.

Remember the year we singed grandpa's eyebrows right off his face with our attempt at a deep-fried turkey?

I want to be someplace where I am not the grown-up.

It's true what they say, though. You can't go home.

I can't, anyway.

Starting from scratch can be fun. I know that years from now I will look back and miss this year's Celebrations, and last year's and next year's.

I feel the need to surround myself with people who can stand in for my family. Who are willing to be the people we will talk about years from now. Maybe some of them will still be our Turkey Eaters then and together we will remember old friends who have moved on. One can only hope.

I realize I am forging new memories that will get misty with time.

Someday I'll be longing for the sound of my kids running around the house, begging to help make the food. I'll wonder who moved the clocks forward.

Today, though, if I could, I would be up at Sara's,

or hanging out at Linette's bugging Kate and talking Shannon into bringing the boys down,

or down at Kim's house rummaging through her cupboards and getting a Diet Coke from the basement Fridge,

or on my way to Diana's and a magical time at Disneyland,

or watching my dad think of new and crazy ways to cook a turkey.

I miss you all more than you can imagine and probably more than I should.