Apparently, my family had bets going to see when I was going to realize that there were no rolls. My sister-in-law saw that I'd put the butter dish on the table, and then she removed it with stealth. When I walked into the dining room, I practically screamed, "I forgot the rolls!" David then yelled out, "Hey everybody! She figured it out!"
Crap. Why didn't they just tell me? The rolls only needed ten minutes in the oven. And how did I forget?! I'd gone so far as to clipping a coupon to buy them, putting butter on the table, figuring out which bowl to place them in... still I forgot.
But despite everyone in my family not getting the awesome carbs and fat that rolls would have given them, they forgave me.
5:15 p.m., Thursday: I made numerous protests to my family members and especially my dad's girlfriend that they don't have to do my dishes, but they insisted. Maybe it was the lack of rolls that caused them to have so much energy.
After a quick trip to the park for the kids, we gathered in the living room to watch old home movies that my dad had recently converted to DVD. My older niece sits in a big chair with me and squeals excitedly when her father, then 12, showed up on the screen, playing a video game with David, then 13, on the best technology at the time: A Commodore 64. Or was it 128?
Everyone laughs at the temper tantrums thrown by two-year-old Susie. They laugh more when my brother gives me bubble gum and Susie is immediately silent and content. And picking her nose.
They "awwww" when our grandmother is filmed, in her kitchen, making Christmas dinner in 1986. My dad goes to her and dances with her around the kitchen, while she yells, "I'm holding the gravy boat, watch it!" They laugh when cousin Jon and I are banging on Grandma's piano (which is now in my living room), and baby cousin Annie toddles up to try to play, and in one motion Jon knocks her to the floor. Despite this, Annie keeps standing up and smacks the upper keys with her hands, laughing.
"Do you remember going to her wedding last year?" I asked my older niece. "Yeah," she said. "My sister and I wore matching outfits and I told David to 'dance, monkey, dance.'"
By 6 p.m., guests were filing out of the house, giving hugs and saying good-byes. I managed to auction off a few leftovers.
My dad and his girlfriend stayed, and we watched another home movie: Summer 1993, when all I did was ride bikes and play sports. My brother was 19, playing Genesis on the piano and wearing Yes t-shirts, working at Bob Evans, where he ended up meeting his wife. We laughed at how I started every scene with, "My name is Susan and I'm nine." My mom had painted the side of her fist into a face, with a scrunchy around her wrist as a dress, and hand-puppetted a rendition of "I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles" in falsetto.
That made me a little sad, for some reason. I miss summers as a kid -- my parents were teachers, so they were always home with me to do something cool. Go to my softball games, take me to basketball camp, having relaxing lunches with grapes, shrimp and grilled cheese sandwiches.
"Holy crap, it's 7:15," I said, after that video was done. It felt like midnight. I played some tipsy piano -- "Maple Leaf Rag," "Sonate Pathetique," and "Moonlight Sonata." Couldn't find my real sheet music for that last one.
I don't really remember much after my dad left, other than that David and I watched the "Harbough Bowl" (Ravens v. 49ers). I picked at the spinach dip (hating myself a little more each time I did it), watched some TV, and David went upstairs.
By one I was in bed, and I didn't wake up until almost two this afternoon. I promptly started writing, sipping one of my dad's girlfriend's Smirnoff Ices that I found in the fridge. David's been beta testing SWTOR all day, and I'm jealous. My back aches, my legs ache, and I wish I could do it again next week.