The Circus Under the Tent

My niece had her first communion last Sunday. It was probably the first day of one serious heatwave we had.

Middle Sister and her husband rented a tent with tables and chairs. Esthetically beautiful, a logistic boon. The white tent actually kept the oppressive heat away, but maybe too well because everyone stayed way late and all of her neighbours dropped in. We left at about 9 (after I dressed my nephews in their pajamas so maybe people would get the hint) and the neighbours were still in full-blast party mode. At least one of them brought their own liquor (three bottles of Mike's Hard Lemonade).

But that was the guy who also mowed their lawn when we were at the ceremony.

The church ceremony was a mass with all of the Grade 2 kids from her school involved. They performed a song at the end and, in typical niece fashion, she sang it å la Celine Dion: full of gusto with lots of action. My niece does everything big. She's one of those people who grabs life by the horns and enjoys the adventure.

My parents walked us through the woods that back off to my sister's house after church. I wore kitten heels. I ended up having to take them off and walk through the pine needle and rock-strewn path barefoot, wishing I wore the Crocs that Daughter insisted on giving me for Mother's Day ("So we can be the same, Mumma!").

Back at the house, we got to work in the kitchen. Baby Sister stayed at home and heated food (all delicious), so I gladly took the tray of pastizzi around. "What are these?" Middle Sister's Italian-Canadian in-laws asked. "Maltese fruit of the gods," I replied. "You won't be disappointed." No one ever is. The only person I ever knew to hate them is a son of my dad's friend and he grew up to be a complete fuck-up. So there.

I spent most of the day working the crowd. Middle Sister was very busy and her husband pretty much kept to his side of the family, so I went around to my side. I can't complain; I love the company of my extended family. We don't get together nearly enough but when we do, we're never short on talk.

I kept away from my mother, who was in bossy mode again in the kitchen. I knew I'd just make her problems worse, and she called me the next day to thank me. Besides, Middle Sister's sisters-in-law (just the two that give me the heebie-jeebies) were also in the kitchen. Did I say my mum was bossy? Oh, no. Not comparatively. Not even close. It was when one sister-in-law pretty much unwrapped her gift to Niece to show me what she bought her that I just vowed not to even make any more eye contact with them. "I always find the nicest gift," she said.

Sorry, honey. If we're in a pissing match, I'm not squatting. Besides, I'll win. Why? Frankly, I think our niece would like mine better. I give my sister's kids the best gift I ever got from most of my aunties: time and respect for the persons they are. The bought gifts I got were pretty rockin' too, I say immodestly.

I think the highlight of the day came from my little nephew. I was swinging him around, playing rough the way he likes, stopping occasionally to hydrate him. When his mum brought out the bubble machine, he gestured that our playtime was over. "Tane too," he said to me and gave me a kiss on the lips. My first unprompted, from the heart, kiss from that boy. My cup runneth over.

Before we hit the highway, we gassed up. The sign said 95.3 but the pump was 91.5. That possibly was the cherry on Husband's Sunday.

After sitting beside my father and his sour coffee breath, I always thought a mint variety would go over well.