In our family there are the Urbans, who live in the big city. By big city I mean about ten minutes from DC depending on traffic.
Then there's Us, the hillbillies- borned and raised and still hang'in on here for dear life here in West Virginia.
The Urbans were born and raised here too, but this is the side of the family tree they deny. They keep hidden from their many high society
I ask every year at the time of planning, why you even want to have it here? You don't even like coming here? Oh they say the same
Well what gave you that idea? We love it there.
So then, why you try to hide from us? Anyway...
They plan this big ole hoopla every year and descend on good ole West "By God" Virginia for spendin' the day with family. There is only one rule they have. We can't act like we're hillbillies and positively no hillbilly shenanigans.
That's their word not mine. Not hillbilly. Shenanigans.
So as you can imagine at the gather'in the hillbilly's and the Urbans split out into groups. It isn't long before someone walks by the grill to throw a firecracker in it just to scare the Grill Keeper Urban.
There's only so many excuses why you have to keep going to your car to sneak a drink from the Urbans, cuz they want us on our best behavior.
We start telling our last weekend stories which is why someone is there wearing a new cast this year. Meanwhile they are Instagraming the food spread. To send friends and admire for later I guess. Maybe they take pictures in case someone goes home with a case of diarrhea. They bring up the food trying to guess what is was and who brought it? Evidence? I don't know.
After the broken bone story, they tell us about their trip
and eating at Delmonico's.
I think a bone sticking outta someone's leg story trumps listening to the menu from some fancy pantsy restaurant, don't you?
Throughout the long day there is the child who comes running with a little cut on his foot and the Urbans are ready to call 9-1-1.
Jeeze it's a scratch. While you're fishing for the first aid kit for a band aid and turn around the kid is already over on the playground trying to get back in line.
Okay cool he walked it off. Bet your glad you didn't call fer an ambulance huh?
And here it comes the whole talk about why the kid should be wearing shoes.
Where is his shoes?
I don't know. Did he even have'em on when we got here? Kids around here like to go barefoot, jeeze.
Of course within five to ten minutes the same kid is back screaming because he fell off of the merry go round. You brush the sand and dirt outta his hair and he runs get back on screaming, wait for me! There is just no talking to the Urbans that the kids here are built Ford Tough!
Then towards the end try as hard as they want to they always end up in failing at trying to behave like they never left. They've lost their edge. The Urbans don't even sound like us.
We once again retreat to our own corners. The Urbans on one side; we on the other to talk about the pig roast next weekend. God it'll be great. No one will be
Losing their mind because the hammock rolled over with a kid in it. Dang its a scratch. He's had his shots. Not every cut means an antibiotic for gosh sakes.
Spending their day on the pieces of technology- texting, Instagramming, Face timing and talking with their fancy I-gadgets. Only putting them down to chastise and ridicule.
Freaking out because the baby snuck over and downed a bottle of Mountain Dew before anyone noticed. It's a sugary drink, not the freaking zombie apocalypse.
Freaking out because the little boys hotdog rolled on the ground and he brushed off the grass and dirt and ate it. Every kid eats a little dirt. Relax at least it didn't happen inside a restaurant on those grungy floors.
Before they say goodbye someone walks up and gives the child who won't keep them on a pair of shoes.