I wonder how many people look forward to family visits without fear of being judged? Logically, I shouldn’t worry about such nonsense, but it’s always buried in a corner in my mind.

I suspect my family doesn’t completely understand why we moved. The assumption shared by both mine and the Mister’s families are you relocate because of job opportunities, or to be closer to family. Our move has made commuting an easier task for the Mister, and the cost of living is lower. Embedded in the benefits, lie the main reasons, which I don’t feel driven to explain. I don’t see any benefits in explaining how emotionally disconnected I felt in the geography, or the local attitudes about, politics, schooling, and environmental issues. The world felt small, and not in a good way, but in an oppressive growth inhibiting way.

The last thing I want to do is insult the places family and friends call home. They love the area, and it’s simplicity, and I am genuinely happy for them. I need more variety, and I would like an opportunity to grow, as a person, a wife, and maybe an artist.

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When I announced my move, my mother issued much big talk about visiting us. I knew she WANTED to visit, but the long trip would be difficult, and the dilemma of leaving her cats, her bed, and her smoke scented home could be thorny issues. We moved in April, and returned for a few days in May. By the middle of June, she was asking if We was coming back over the summer. We hadn’t been gone three full months. I should have felt flattered to be missed, but instead I was disgusted about the assumption I should making frequent trips.

When I lived an hour away, it was I always presumed I would drive to visit her, and I did. Of the five years we lived in the last house, she drove to our home maybe a dozen times. I drove to her home a dozen times a year, not counting the times I drove to a siblings house to visit her.

The issue isn’t which sibling she drove to visit more. The others have grandchildren, and we have ill-mannered cats. Driving isn’t comfortable for my mother, and health is a complete consideration. I’m not heartless, but I detest the presumption that I should do the right thing because I have a history of doing so. I know the road to hell is paved with good intentions, but I’m not the type of person who’s mood improves when you make idle threats, regardless of how noble your intentions. Say what you mean, and mean what you say. I accept at this stage in life I will be doing most of the traveling, but pretending it will be otherwise is a disservice to both of us.

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My sister and her family have tried to visit since July. They’ve scheduled at least four times. Each time, some extraordinary circumstance beyond their control has prevented them from coming. The number of days has remained constant, but the number of participants has ranged from three to five. We have one guest bedroom, an air mattress, and a comfortable couch. They can all play rock paper scissors to see who sleeps where, as I will be sleeping in my queen sized bed covered in cats.

The issue isn’t how many, as much as it is who. The who part relates to cooling. My BIL is a very picky specific eater. He is hypersensitive to spicy food and very LOUD about it. He has insulted my Mister about this. Typically, BIL will not eat food he doesn’t prepare himself. I try to prepare a dish or two of the non-spicy variety for him, whether he eats it or not.

Why bother, you might ask? My BIL has always been a most excellent and generous host, each time I have descended upon his home invited or not. I want to return the hospitality, though it may be a pain in the ass.

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My sister’s family scheduled their most recent visit for next weekend (hence, the toilet seat makeover). Initially there would be five guests. My sister’s family of four and my mother. Thanks sis!. Last week, my sister said her husband may or may not come. His class reunion was belatedly scheduled for the same weekend. I asked her for a final head count a few days in advance so I could prepare food. Saturday, my sister called to say they didn’t know if they would be able to come. This postponement was brought courtesy of an act of God (if you believe in that sort of thing). Gas shortage due to Hurricane Ike. As a cautionary measure, I tried to fill my tank Saturday, both stations on the mountain had sold out. If i were a believer, I’d question whether a visit from family was a good idea. Nonetheless, I should be prepared.

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To expect a household to maintain normalcy when they expand from two adults to four adults and two excited kids is unrealistic. If plans don’t fall through this will be a very noisy house next week. My family is loud and in constant competition to be heard. Talkers always outnumber listeners. Commotion wears me down and erodes my patience. I’m trying to make as many preparations in advance as I can to make things easy. I want to be good hostess, though it doesn’t come naturally. I want life in the kitchen to be easy, not stressful like every faily gathering I’ve attended since I was five. I know everything will not run smoothly, but the more preparations i have in order, the less scrambling required.

My goal is host a relaxing weekend for my family, that appears easy, even if it isn’t easy and I am not relaxed.

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Calling those who cook!

Okay, I prepare food, but I am not much of a southern cook. If anyone has a recipe for biscuits, or buttermilk biscuits, please share. I am also looking for tips on slow roasting a Boston Butt in the oven (our electric smoker is schizophrenic).

I am an enigma wrapped in a mystery. I was born in the land of home cookin’ but I don’t know how to make biscuits, sweet tea, fried chicken, gravy, or squash casserole. So you won’t lose all respect for me, I can make an ass-kicking sausage and lentil soup, blackened salmon, and rosemary garlic cornish game hens.