Thursday, April 5, 2012

Not Italian...Polish!

My sister and I used to say that for someone to marry into our family, there were certain tests they had to pass. Of course we wanted someone who truly loved the Lord and had proven character, but even still there were three challenges they must be able to withstand. First they had to get past Dad, second they had to be able to handle our family as a unit and all the craziness that went with that, but then there was one final test. And if they could pass such an intense challenge, with some version of grace, they were a keeper.

That last challenge was meeting my mom's side of the family. All together. If they could do that without running down the street shrieking, marriage with this human being was imminent.

Don't take this the wrong way. I love my mom's family. But my mother is one of eight children, six of whom are girls. Then there are 28 grandkids (I'm number five), plus 20 great-grandkids and counting. And we are loud. I mean all-talking-over-each-other-at-once loud. It's the kind of noise that makes the sons-in-law sneak in earplugs. Take what you're conjuring up and your head and multiply it by ten. Then there's the food sprinkled with a bit of drama and some aunt trying to plant a wet kiss on your face if you're lucky, lips if you're not. And then on top of that, they love to dance. Last week, at my parent's home I watched my mother, three aunts and uncle break it down. In the kitchen.

I asked my aunts why we act like a big Italian family. To which I got the emphatic response of: "We're Polish!"

I didn't realize Poland was such a boisterous nation.

So, like I said before, last week my grandma, two of my mom's sisters, and two cousins came for a visit. At the end of the week my uncle and his wife came down as well. It was a blast. A really loud blast.


While the aunts danced in the kitchen, the kids opted for Just Dance Wii...



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