The holidays were quite the experience this year. Usually we go all out to make the kids’ Christmas special. It is, after all, a special time of year for everybody. This year was markedly different, however, as we planned to take the kids to my wife’s family home in Vermont.

We hadn’t seen this side of the family in two years due to, you know, the whole pandemic thing. I’m blessed to have the family I do. Somehow I tricked them all into thinking I’m this incredibly nice guy and my wife’s lucky to have married me.

I’m not joking. That’s basically what the last birthday card my in-laws sent me said to the letter.

My wife had very specific demands going up there. She wanted a full Thanksgiving dinner in addition to whatever spread her mother and father would put on at Christmas. So as you can probably imagine, my ass needs to get back in a gym pronto.

Anyway, we loaded up the car the first morning of travel. Traveling with three other people, specifically two of them being small humans, is quite the road trip experience if you’ve never done it. In my house, it requires we take, in addition to luggage, a cooler and a large grocery bag full of snacks.

Day one was spent driving to the town of Hershey, Pennsylvania. Dr. S. had extensively researched fun stuff for the kids to do on the drive up, and there’s nothing more fun for kids than extensive consumption of chocolate. So we took a tour of the town via trolley that’s sponsored by the Hershey company.

It’s wild to think Hershey’s a company town. Milton S. Hershey, the guy who founded the candy giant, built so much and gave so much to the community you might as well call it that. The Hershey company makes a big point of telling you just how much of a humanitarian Milton was on the trolley. In fact, much of the trolley guide’s general patter focused on Milton Hershey’s virtues. Go figure.

Anyway the kids loved it. They got to meet Santa on the trolley, who told them they’d made the nice list and gave them souvenir ornaments. Dr. S. and I, along with every other adult on the trolley, were gifted kazoos Santa called “Music Helpers.”

I still have that fucking kazoo. It’s in my pocket most of the time because it’s the only instrument I can play without pissing off my kids.

Day three, we began our trek to Vermont. I made a point of blowing through New York as fast as possible. It’s not that I have anything against New York. It’s that the only decent places to take a shit on the route we drive are these rest centers that just creep me out for some inexplicable reason.

Anyway we got to my in-laws’ house at night, right around the kids’ bedtime. My in laws live in a beautiful and very old house on a couple acres in rural Vermont. Being an old house, it doesn’t have air conditioning, but the place is heated well and the downstairs where they stick us was remodeled several years ago to basically be a standalone apartment and it’s nice.

That part of rural Vermont, my wife tells me, has more cows than people. I used to think it was a joke until I saw just how few people were around and how many cows I spotted on a regular basis.

The house has absolute shit Internet access and cell phone reception. In case you’re not getting it, all of this means basically no one has the ability to bother me while I’m up there. It’s simply glorious.

My mother in law goes all out for Christmas. She apparently goes all out for cats now as she’s adopted three since we last visited. She also still insists her husband get a real tree as the cats kept climbing in the damn thing while we were there. It was to a point where the family kept a squirt gun on the living room table to shoo the cats out of the tree.

She (the mother in law, to keep this clear) also has a fondness for Hallmark Christmas movies. This means whenever she’s around the TV in the living room Hallmark Christmas movies have to be on. If you haven’t seen a Hallmark Christmas movie count yourself lucky. They’re all incredibly cheesy, saccharine to the point your brain hurts and every single one has the same goddamn plot.

The incessant drone of Hallmark Christmas movies would be unbearable if her children didn’t rag about it constantly. My brothers and sisters in-law are all blessed with wicked senses of humor. The Hallmark Christmas movie jokes make it as if we’re all living like Joel and the robots from Mystery Science Theater 3000.

“Oh look, she’s met a handsome stranger in a doctor’s office who’s got amnesia and hates Christmas. It’s only hour one so he’s not the undisputed love of her life yet.”

Hallmark Christmas movies, for the uneducated, have running themes every year. Like I said, all the movies are the same damn thing. This year’s theme was DJ from Full House. I have no idea why, but every time I looked up from what I was reading DJ from Full House was on the TV.

Christmas Eve came and the food bonanza began. My in laws celebrate with a massive Christmas Eve dinner, so we only had half a chicken finger grinder for lunch that day. If you’ve never had a chicken finger grinder, they’re the best sandwiches ever made. Don’t even @ me about this. You’re not going to change my mind.

Anyway we had these incredible meat pies my mother in law makes for dinner that evening along with an assortment of other sweets. The meat pies have a French Canadian name I’m not even going to attempt spelling here as I’m a redneck, but they’re savory and delicious.

We hung the stockings that night for Santa and left the elf out a slice of the meat pie. The kids usually leave him milk and cookies but this year we explained to them we were trying to provide him with protein to keep him full of energy on his ride across the globe.

Christmas morning came and with it an explosion of wrapping paper and discarded ribbons as my kids and the rest of the family opened gifts. I was gifted a couple of very nice texts on sleight of hand, including one with the full correct handling for a card trick I’ve apparently done the wrong way for years.

My in laws are incredibly nice to me. I know I’ve mentioned this already but it’s worth repeating. One year Dr. S. told them I liked magic books so most of them went to Amazon and searched for the first thing that came up. That year I received volumes of esoteric occult stuff that looked really nice but weren’t my bag. Shortly after my wife told them about the unintended gaff, one of the brothers reached out to me asking where one could get books on “that” kind of magic and ever since they’ve gifted me some wonderful books that I regularly revisit.

The kids got everything from cooking sets to remote controlled cars. And candy. So much candy it filled two huge dishes we found in the kitchen cupboards. My son got the games Sorry and Mancala, which we’ve come to learn he’s quite good at and ruthless with during play.

My daughter got more cooking stuff because she’s obsessed with cooking, a sewing set, and a purple Care Bear i’ve learned is named “Share Bear.” She promptly constructed a purse in short order with the sewing kit and uses the bag to carry Share Bear in. Everywhere. This is an improvement because at least the purse can fit in her backpack, unlike the huge pink care bear my mother got her for Christmas.

The most outlandish present came from one of my wife’s brothers. It was a stuffed dragon as big as my six year old son and twice as big around. After marveling at it we agreed to have it shipped to the house as there was no way in hell this thing would fit in the car with all the other stuff we had to drive back with.

A couple days later we packed up and left, stopping in New Market, Virginia. That’s the home of the Luray caverns, the largest caves on the East Coast. The kids were thrilled to see the caves. My wife had found the place months ago online and determined we needed to see them.

That night we watched the Vols in the Music City Bowl in the hotel room. I won’t say much about that game other than I’m proud of the Vols effort and I hope the ref that blew that call in overtime gets a case of crotch rot.

The next day, New Year’s Eve, we finally made it back to Knoxville. After getting the kids fed and in bed, eating dinner, getting everything unloaded from the car and laundry started there was no way in hell either Dr. S. or I would make it to midnight.

So that’s how your humble humorist rang in his New Year: tired, grateful to be in his own home and bed, and refusing to drive anywhere for at least a day.

Which is pretty much how I rang in 2021, come to think of it.

Happy First Friday of 2022, everybody! It’s good to be back. Hopefully no matter how your week’s been you didn’t have to drive fifteen hours at some point. If you did, I’m sorry and hopefully you’ll have a better week coming next. Unless that’s your thing.

See you next week!