South Like A Migrating Birdie

Well, it’s nigh on three days now before the kids and I leave for Florida.  We’ll be visiting my mom, who lives in a little retirement community northwest of Orlando.  The good news is that hurricane season is over.  The bad news is that we’ll be in a little retirement community northwest of Orlando.

This trip is going to be our unofficial family reunion.  I say unofficial because we of my clan are very reserved and understated.  We don’t make t-shirts or tack up signs and balloons that say “Forty-sixth Annual Johnson Family Reunion”.  Much of that would be due to the fact that our family name is not Johnson.  But you can also attribute it to our uptighty Republicanness.  So we’ll just say that the whole affair is very much under the radar.

The other reason this isn’t a big deal is that there’s not much of us left.  Dad and three grandparents have passed away.  My siblings are scattered: one in Seattle, one in Chicago.  My mom’s a Florida resident now.  I’m in Ohio, and I’m the only one with kids, so our little family is actually smaller now than it was when I was young.  This seems strange, especially when compared to hubby’s family.  When I first started dating my husband, it was just his dad and step-mum, two step-siblings, and two brothers.  Then his step-brother and step-sister had babies.  Then one of his brothers got married.  He and I got married the following year.  We all had babies.  And more babies.  And now, his side of the family is like three times bigger than it was when we first got together.

My family, on the other hand, appears to be suffering from a negative birth rate.

So Mom’s Florida house is our ever-shrinking family’s Destination 2008, where we’ll all meet and hang out for a few lovely days.  We are all coming and going at different times, with just a Saturday and Sunday in common.  That’s okay.  It will be great to see my brother again; I haven’t seen him since Christmas of 2006.  My sister and her fiance are coming in for just a weekend, due to their busy schedules, but at least we’ll have one great evening where all of us kids are together.  DH can’t make it.  He’s actually doing some traveling for work that week.  But staying with my mom for an entire week is more than I’d ever ask of him, anyway.   I love him that much.

Yes, we are going to Disney while we’re down there.  No, we are not going to the beach.

And as usual, I’ve scheduled poorly, or planned badly, or just have bad calendar luck.  We’re hosting a big party for the Superbowl on Sunday, the day before I’m supposed to leave, and of course I now have tons of baking and cooking and cleaning to do, among other important things like packing, to get ready for this trip.

But, as I like say, if it weren’t for the damn internet last minute, I’d never get anything done.

In case you’re curious, here is the Superhuman Superbowl Super Menu:

  • One brined and roasted turkey
  • Two or three homemade pizzas, depending on my energy level and quantity of bread flour on hand
  • One extraordinarily large bowl of fresh-cut fruit
  • Two lovely kinds of homemade cupcakes
  • One platter of homemade baked preztels, with three kinds of gourmet mustard for dipping
  • Several as-yet-undetermined other bowls of snackies
  • One very large (dare I say bottomless?) pot of coffee.  Full caffeine.
  • One very large (dare I say bottomless?) glass of beer.

3 thoughts on “South Like A Migrating Birdie

  1. Hmmmm, what I like about you yanks, is that you go the whole hog, ya do things in style. Here, if you have people around to watch a game, you have beer, soda, maybe some chips and then order takeaways.

    Have fun in Florida.

  2. Hay, I’m not a normal American. Wait! I mean, I’m not typical (I’m also not normal on a global scale, but … oh, well, nevermind.) What I mean to say is that typical Americans order pizza, chill a six- or twelve-pack in the fridge, and open a bag of something crunchy. They do not roast turkeys, bake pretzels, and frost cupcakes with homemade frosting. They just don’t.

    Em- what kind of cookys did you make? (I’m secretly glad the Patriots lost. Shhh.)

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