An exercise in post-modern poetry writing by Yo Mama, dedicated to The In-Laws in an effort to verbalize and memorialize a killer weekend.
Thanksgiving.
One visit stretching Wednesday through Sunday.
Exciting. Each Moment a mix between vacation and easy street.
Emily.
I would sit up until 2 a.m. with you any morning.
Searching. To understand just what our vampire powers would be.
At least we can be sure that yours would be that of a skilled fabric stapler.
You have a gift.
Use it wisely.
If you liked it, you should have put a ring on it.
One hour in a laundry basket.
Laughing at Beyonce and Justin Timberlake. (Click Here if you want in on our joke.)
Mimaw.
The boys are still crying at the mention of your name.
You did too many dishes and brought too many gifts.
Pipaw.
Wyatt never sat so still during any treatment as when he sat on your lap.
So still.
What skill to tame the youngster's asthma.
Nathan and Joelle.
The nomad sleepers.
Thanks for the bread.
Your choice of pancake was sublime.
Synopsis: A successful Thanksgiving with Boston Market Turkey, homemade sides, and P.I.E. We were blessed because no one left their underwear on the counter and everyone got at least one nap. Sometimes two.