They call me Misopedia (but only on a really bad day)

I’ve just validated the effectiveness of one of my oldest coping skills. When dreading an event, I’ll come up with a handful of terrible things that could happen. When nothing even comes close to the horrors of my overactive imagination, I can say, “That wasn’t so bad.”

I survived Thanksgiving. It was kind of fun, actually.

The boys slept late. SO and I popped out of bed and started making the sweet potato casserole, Hershey’s chocolate cake, and dinner rolls. I turned on the parade. When the boys came dragging into the living room, they were immediately bored by the floats, marching bands, and lip-synching pop stars. They donned their soccer gear and went outside.

At 10:30, I pulled a wine cooler out of the fridge and took a drink. It didn’t get me tipsy, but psychologically, I felt prepared. By 11:30 we were loading up the van for the short drive to my parent’s house.

“How’s Dad?” I asked my brother while we were unloading the food.

“I’d say he’s a 5 on the Gripe-O-Meter,” he replied. “Started out at 2, but Baby Sis called to say she would be late, and he shot up to a 7. He’s had a while to calm down, so I think he’s evened out at the half-way mark.”

Thank God! Dad had already fixed his baleful eye on another member of the family. Baby Sis was going to be the focus of his ire. I was home free! I’d left another wine cooler in the van as a back-up plan, but it seemed I wouldn’t be needing it. Sure enough, when my sister showed up nearly 30 minutes late, she’d also forgotten the pumpkin pie. Let the griping begin!

Even better, both my kids ate their dinner without complaint. Baby Sis’s oldest child is the world’s pickiest eater. The only way he maintains his stocky build is by gorging on sweets and French fries. He whined through most of the meal, taking the white hot light of Dad’s critical eye off my boys. Anyone who refuses to eat a home-cooked meal earns my father’s ridicule and disdain.

Anyone, apparently, but this 3rd and favorite grandchild. My dad chuckled with amusement when Baby Sis threatened the kid. “You won’t get any chocolate cake!”

“Neither will you, if you don’t clean your plate,” Dad threw back at her.

We successfully avoided any kind of political or religious discussions by playing one of my dad’s favorite games, Balderdash. He doesn't play to win; he plays to amuse. He likes making up definitions for obscure words, but he absolutely loves reading the definitions the rest of us come up with. He actually laughed so hard, he had tears running down his face.

Some samples:

Bolied

• mineral found only in the Dead Sea
• a chemical used to make ale
• excessive bullying from below the Mason-Dixon line

Tib

• a wooden spike
• fancy pen
• famed playwright of the Algonquin Roundtable

Snath

• early American hat
• ancient form of flying creature from the Cretaceous Period
• round pebbles found in brooks or streams

Mummichog

• embalming fluid used in Ancient Egypt
• Japanese fish chowder
• a silver killfish found along the US Atlantic ocean

Gleb

• parlor game
• lapdog-like creature from Star Wars lore
• one who is constipated

Crawthumpers

• mutant animal created in a secret lab, a mix of crab and rabbits
• religious fanatics
• clogging dance group sensation based out of Pottawatamie County, OK, who rose to the height of popularity during the 1960s before dying in a tragic tainted crawfish-eating contest

Misopedia

• Dictionary of bugs
• Compendium of stories
• hating children, especially your own

My dad was in such a good mood after the game ended, he even challenged me to a game of Scrabble. (I refused, remembering the last time we played in which I was reduced to tears by his accusations that I was cheating. How do you cheat at Scrabble, short of raiding the bag when nobody else is looking?) I think I'm going to incorporate Balderdash in every family gathering from now on. Once the tension starts to mount and the fur to fly, I'll pull it out.

"I've been bolied by you crawthumpters once too often. Now grab a tib and let's have us a gleb!"