My friends, The Yoders, think we're liars now. (by the way, yes, they are Mennonite/Amish upbringing... how interesting is that!?)  We invited their family for Thanksgiving dinner with many descriptive warnings about our funky, extended family.  I think they came just to get a bang out of seeing these strange people we have been referring to, but too embarrassed to introduce, for nearly a year.

So, this is my description of the last Thanksgiving dinner spent at The-Man-of-the-Place's Grandmother's cave in the boonies years ago. (Please be aware that after this Thanksgiving which I'm about to describe, we made a firm Pinkie Promise never to spend Thanksgiving anywhere but in our own home): 

First you have The Great Great Grampa who, when spoken to, simply says 'yyyYYYYUUUUUPP!' to everything that is said. 

Then you have The Grump who just sits in the corner, brooding; refusing to speak to anyone. 

Then there was The Aunt whom we had to hide our purses from (who is currently serving 6 years in prison in IL for forgery, drugs, theft, DUI). 

There were her two roommates in attendance... The Lesbian who was eyeing me within minutes, and The Entertainer who was getting jealous as a result of said creepy-eyeing. 

There was The Alcoholic, his wife, and her schizophrenic mother who was making strange noises while eating and chatting to some imaginary person.

Then there was The Gentle Crone who likes "critters" in her swill-like dressing which actually pours from a ladle.  (ie: critters = oysters.  Yeah, scared me when she first called them that the first year.)  She just chews her food and doesn't speak ~ but when she does, she's always kinda pleasant.  A small thing for which to be grateful.

Then there was The Felony-Charged Teenager who shows up tainted by the latest chemical his "friends" have so graciously shared with him. 

Then there was The Cousin, the male teenager who wears makeup, idolizes Liza Minnelli, and wears his mother's clothes. 

Then there was The IcyMIL who has given me approximately nine hugs in nearly twenty years... she's given me eight rubber spatulas, seventeen pots and pans, 30ish Yankee candles, more kitchen gadgets and clothes than I can count... but NO HUGS FOR YOU! 

Then there was The Dog who got smacked in the chops when he peed on the carpet, yet nobody got up to clean it. (Me, the Germophobe Intruder cleaned it up after seeing nobody do it...eeeeewwww) 

Then there was My Man who, thank you dear Jesus, has very recessive genes and doesn't resemble any of them. (NOT kidding here.  They consider him a freak of nature.  145 IQ, college degree, polished, modern and handsome as can be!)

And there was me, holding our little Geckmeister very close and trying to make pleasant conversation about anything which might resemble something normal, but volleying every subject into a haystack.  I really think I could have sold tickets or done a documentary or something had I not been so stunned.  Had Geckmeister been of homeschooling age I might have even made a film directing project of it and put it on this blog just so you would believe it. 

Share Jesus with them, you say?  Yes, we tried that.  Boy, could you hear the crickets chirping and the fleas jumping.  We actually found that to be a great way to empty the room. 

Back to The Yoders.  Five of the afore mentioned people were invited for Thanksgiving.  Guess what?  They actually formed sentences.  They chewed graciously, used napkins and conversed intelligibly.  They said thank you and used utensils.  Nobody shouted or cursed.  Great Great Grandpa said something other than Yup. Of course they left in less than two hours, but still... amazing.  Now we are trying to get a Pinkie Promise out of The Yoders that they have to come to every Thanksgiving from now on, because when they do, giant pods come out of the Mothership and replace our relatives with fairly normal people.