I've been trying to make a family tree. I say 'trying,' because it is damn near impossible when my father tells me it is "news to him!" that his babymama (OK, my Mom) is Native American. Haven't you watched my stand-up, Dad?! Kidding. Kind of. NO ONE in my family cares so I am going off what I know about us for sure... 

My family cultivated gerbils in our living room- and fruitlessly at that because we lost the majority of them under the refrigerator.* I first heard about cancer from a Charlie Brown episode, I wore Spiderman shoes from Payless and I thought 'felacio,' was a fancy type of dessert until I was in college. We enjoyed the simple things in life like swimming in the heart-shaped jacuzzi that served as the only means of bathing in the honeymoon trailer we occupied- or playing outside without a shirt on until we were well into grade school- OR dumping the pepper shaker in my mouth. That last one wasn't enjoyable but it still happened. Sure, my sister wore a dress without underwear to church once- and SURE my dad made us finish our Chef Boyardee tortellini even if we were puking. Yup, we had an outrageously ordinary and NORMAL upbringing. Yes, yes, I agree with you. 

Because my mom was dating a Dick I decided to leave NH. No really, she was dating a guy named Dick.** It was logical to forever abandon my academic scholarship after one year to come flop around in NYC... begging for acting jobs daily and more often than not-- hanging out with toddlers. This past weekend was no exception, I was asked to be a child-wrangler at a stranger's wedding. I have a non-existent social life, so this sounded exciting- and by 'exciting,' I mean lucrative. 

So I'm thinking- 15 kids, many hours of misery, drunk people paying me- at least I will make lots of money. I dive in right away. Within the first 7.5 minutes I have shmingled and properly introduced myself to all the adults with a small human bothering them, I have verbally glorified the options in terms of what the fuck I am going to do with 15 kids for six hours and I have wrangled numerous babies to the dance floor. We are boogying; rich, snobular (scientific term) parents are impressed. The groom's daughter attempts to intimidate me with her hierarchy for the night, I get her a drink to appease the situation. It is fruit punch because she is only five. Crisis averted. We move upstairs to a hotel room in a stampede of baby feet, mine included if you've never seen these little buggers- and I'm shouting empty promises of cake, movies all night and hide and seek. The kids all chant with joy, they love me. I do not love them. 

I love them even less when our hotel room has zero food, two farty DVDs  and many breakable items strewn about. Six kids over here are diving off a bed, four  over there are throwing pillows , three are screaming for their parents... to bring up their iPads and the groom's daughter is stalking a boy with an unfortunate lisp in hopes of playing 'doctor,' with him. I know what kind of 'doctor,' I played at 5-years-old, so I asked her the details of the game. She flatly told me she's going to give him a check-up so she'd like it if I kindly took off his little tux. I obliged because she was so honest about the whole thing. That last sentence was a lie.

This continues until dinner is served. Luckily for me, they forgot to bring my entree so I had to share chicken fingers and french fries with the animals. I haven't had meat in over a year*** and I haven't had anything fried since last month when I threw up all night from... eating something fried. Even luckier for me, I start barfing a mere two hours after ingesting the chicken. They will pay me for my misery, I assure myself, everything will come to light, they will take pity and you will be a rich woman. 

FOUR HOURS IN--- PHEW, everyone is engrossed in 'Beverly Hills Chihuahua.'  ....Who is knocking at the door so loudly... OH, some parents to take their k---... "HELLO KIDS!!!!" (Parental visitors turn on all lights). "WHY AREN'T YOU GUYS JUMPING ON THE BEDS?" Kids immediately jump on beds. (Visitors exit once the screeches reach the scientific level of ' fucking painful.') 

SO everyone is up again, thank you. 

I go around snapping a couple necks as an example of what I will do to EVERYONE if they are not immediately back on their pillows on the floor. They obey and at some point the cosmos take pity and the babies all drift off to sleep.

It is 2 am and parents come to retrieve their sleeping lumps. No one is paying me as they walk out the door. I am exhausted and upset but my anger usually looks like a very friendly smile, no one suspects anything. Soon, all is left but one gorgeous little cherub and Dad insists we talk. He asks about New Hampshire, about the other children I work with AND if I plan on losing weight before I move to LA. I now despise this person- not because he just called me fat but because he assumes I want to have sex with his rich, old, drunken ass. He confirms this when he says, 'Want to get a drink and stay in my room?' Luckily for me AGAIN, I was still wiping the vomit off my chin from the latest spew and kindly replied, "I've been barfing, I should get home."  I run past and wait for the groom to pay me. No one asks if I need cab money. 

In the elevator I open the folded check they've given me. It has my named spelt incorrectly and it is enough to buy one shoe. SO I am walking home it seems. There is no one to call to pass the time on this very long and late walk, so I go through the text messages my parents were sending me all night. My dad texts with one finger, but managed to send me names of my great-great grandparents I've been hounding him for. This means he had to visit my Memere and listen to the local gossip about whose kids are now 'smoking dope.'  My mother, inversely, texts novellas but also managed to actually include one useful nugget of information in her message. She, too, sent me more names to aid in the family tree.

I bet Isaac Rubenstein back there in the wedding knows exactly where he came from and quite frankly, great for him. Sure I'm on this kick to find out exactly who I am- but the more I learn about other people, I see even more clearly what I'm made up of. My parents grew up with nothing, they raised us with nothing- but they are the most generous and loving people I am forced to associate with.**** Although no one has had an interest in remembering our family history (and this has been disheartening) I am damn proud of the family I do know of. I take care of other people because I was taught to do so by people who literally had nothing but love to give- and to let you in on a secret... that's far more significant than money. BUT, if it came down to money, we'd give our last cent to show our gratitude. And if it was around 1995, you'd get a free baby gerbil as well. 

Now wedding family. I forgive you, thanks for giving me a good story. 

*This was due to an unfortunate gender-misdiagnosis followed by unruly reproduction. I learned a bit about baby making that year- such as, it actually IS your fault if the mom eats the baby because you touched it right after birth. 

** This had absolutely nothing to do with my leaving NH. 

***Or I've talked about it enough to pretend it's been a year. 

**** I love you both so much, Michelle too, I am obviously kidding.