Midwest Madness

The Setting:

I'm in Iowa for a week. It's been drizzling, but no snow (though it's cold enough). I'm surrounded by nieces, nephews, and noise-making toys, and the Christmas spirit is unavoidable once everyone gets sick.

The Cast:

I assume I'm not really related to most of these people, though my genes beg to differ. They all seem to be cut from the same piece of white, cotton cloth. I'm some sort of tie-dye burlap sack dipped in mud puddle.

The Plot:

So what will we do here in Iowa? Most likely read books from the 18th century, suffer from indecisiveitis, and each give our own running commentary on what children without motor skills would be saying...if only they could talk.

Summary:

I've seen more snot and regurgitated milk in the last 3 days than I have all year. And really, what would happen if we continued puking after every meal? (Ahem, Nicole Ritchie)

So, it's four days til Christmas. Unless of course you're in my family, in which case, Christmas is tomorrow because flights are all cheaper on the 25th. I'm sure in a few more years, we'll group all birthdays, holidays, and events around a lovely July weekend in southern Alabama.

Maybe I'll wrap up some leftover turkey for the flight attendant. Or maybe, I'll be a jerk, and keep it all to myself to have with my in-flight snack of stale peanuts and group water. Merry Christmas.

Really.