All That Is Missing Is the Perfoming Bear

The ride with the family was as entertaining as ever. Particularly after a warming Mad Elf to grease the skids.

Travel with teenagers is enlightening. We are in 3 rows of seats – elbow to elbow on Christmas Day. Charlotte and I have loads to talk about: News on the kid front (including but not limited to their Christmas with Father Scrooge and their reaction to Mom’s no-show), a rehashing of the defining elements of Mom’s no-show. Excitement about Scott (I am thrilled to have a fabulous new Someone. She is thrilled that I have a fabulous Someone who is not J.)

Charlotte and Jack have a college sophomore home on break, a high school junior looking at and being wooed by schools, and a high school sophomore with girls of all ages throwing themselves at him (whether it has to do with his Bieber-esque hair or his sparkling personality is immaterial – there is a cast of thousands.)

And the three of them have nothing to talk about.

What?

They pop a movie into the now-standard-issue DVD player. I am surprised there is not a tub of popcorn along for the ride.

Charlotte and I yak away and I am riding along in joyful anticipation of spending Christmas with Jack’s extended family. I know many of the relatives but will meet a bunch more today. I am looking forward to it and say as much. The boys turn from the movie to enlighten me. It is a warning about one family member in particular.

Jane.

“Whatever you do, don’t get trapped in a conversation with Jane.”

“If you get cornered by Jane, feign some kind of atrocious bathroom-related emergency and scram.”

“We should have some kind of “tell” if you need to be rescued from Jane.”

I am secretly wondering if I can get away with pretending I have a hearing impairment or if there will be family members who recall that I hear perfectly well and give me up.

I love other people’s families. They make mine seem normal.

OK maybe that is overstating the facts.

Maybe it is more accurate to say that it is “sort of normalizing” to observe other families’ dynamics in full swing – that my sister-in-law's Kodak film box yellow hair, Disney jumpers and Keds for every occassional would be less of a show stopper - but that is not exactly true either.

There is nothing bizarre enough, with the exception of perhaps the movie The Hotel New Hampshire, that could completely level the playing field for my family to compete fairly on the Stanley Kubrick Scale of Normal. We clearly have the unfair advantage and can out-weird any family’s pulp fiction non-fiction.

We pull up in front of the beautiful little house in the quaint little hamlet where Jack’s family is celebrating.

Jack’s mother is outside with a bottle of wine under her coat. She smells of cigarettes. She’s clearly had her Jane encounter.

Welcome to The Hotel New Hampshire.