As many families will experience this weekend, generations come together to celebrate our blessings. With our family, 4 generations converged on Boo's backyard for fun and feast. Extended family from all over Texas excitedly made their way to PineValley. Of course, no gathering is complete without at least a carload getting lost. With GPS and beach traffic all on the fritz, one crew was in the abyss for an hour and a half. Fortunately, when they finally arrived, the cake truffles had just come out and a refill of the beer cooler had just been completed, so all nerves were settled. The Washer Toss game began. TomBergenger just back from mixing Jack&coke out of the back of his truck, teams up with the nephews. Texas Ranger, opted out to play solo basketball. This is more involved than you might think. Instead of being on the pavement where the goal stands, he gets on the trampoline in the side yard. Bounce, bounce, bounce, he shoots. Nothing but net. The grandmothers toast his athletic prowess with champagne, never leaving their comfy chairs under the trees.
Texas Ranger is 12 and my tiny tot, Trixie is 10, and have hung out since they were toddlers. She believes she will be his size in 2 years. I hope not. He is nearly 6 feet tall and wears a size 13 shoe. His football team calls him "Pain Train". Today, he bounces hard so she becomes a human missile straight up on the tramoline.
Tunisa has invited NolanRyan and will not stop taking pictures. It is at this point that I insist we must help Boo get everything out to the buffet. I literally lead little AngelinaJolie inside, put her to work, grab a glass of champagne and resume my post under the trees, eaves dropping on the "grown ups" (Teeny Mama and Miss Fancy, the reigning matriarchs). This has been my M.O. for years. The champagne is a more recent addition. As a child, I found if you just stay quiet you can gain all kinds of information. The kiss of death is opening your mouth, resulting in quick expulsion to "play with the kids".
Soon the 3rd and 4th generation start milling around in a pack mentality. Hunger is setting in. Trixie tells me it is paranormal to have this many people. (She loves big words. Abnormal may have been the word. or not. I digress). Boo gives the ok that all is ready. I fix Big Daddy's plate then bring out the HUGE basket of fried chicken. Amazing, almost paranormal, the effect 100 pieces of fresh fried chicken has on a group. As I walk over with a full plate and place it at the head of the table, I hear "what's The Fabulous Ma'am doing with a plate". I give the signal " When Big Daddy's plate hits the table, line up to fix your own
!" Luckily, I was away from the serving line because they stampeded from all locations. This was comfort food heaven. I had joked that we should have bowls of Lipitor on the table in lieu of mints.
By the time I got to the table, the others had waited to eat like one dog waits for another. Not wanting the food to go unblessed, I raised my hands and said loudly, "God bless this food". Trixie cheered "Yay God!". I have her the 'death stare'. She gave me a baked beans smile. Ever the good hostess, Boo finally dropped into her chair. Our cousin The Deacon, asked a proper prayer, and the eating went into warp drive. Boo whispered to me "all the food is gone!". At this point, my handsome brother in law, Dennis Quaid, got up and offered a toast. To Teeny Mama and her chicken. Cheers!
Teeny Mama has been up before dawn, preparing to cook for the masses. Three electric frying pans going at once, this little lady cooked 20 pounds of chicken. Still, there she was, wearing a summer silk suit, pearls, and cute pumps, sipping champagne as if " oh, it was nothing". At her happiest, with all the children around her, being the Mama. Always ready, willing, and able. She is the safe haven where the nearly grown children hide out , knowing she will plead their case. Hers is the bed where we all convene to have a sounding board and sympathy. She has a closet full of candles on stand by incase deep prayer is needed. She is the reason Big Daddy gets served before 23 other hungry bellies. Her job is to take care of him and us. And that never changes.
And then there is that chicken. All it takes is a request and she will make the most Southern of all meals. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, real biscuits and real butter. I try to get her to let me either cook or cater but she says the children want chicken and that's what they will get.
As the family peels away like slugs to rest up for the dessert round, I notice several "take home" containers, hidden in the kitchen, all filled with chicken and mashed potatoes. Teeny Mama has two grandchildren in college, so she made sure they would have something to eat later, Poor little darlings.
So today, The Fabulous Ma'am is home, swollen feet up, toes looking like Vienna sausages, planning for the next family gathering next Sunday. It will be Teeny Mama's birthday. My sibs and kids will be here and I will do the cooking. Tenderloin is on the menu. I would cook chicken, but they wouldn't eat it. It's only fried chicken if Mama does it.
Have a Blessed Easter.
I remain,
The Fabulous Ma'am
