I've yet to call my cousin to make definite plans for Christmas. She's a nurse with Christmas day off, so that's the scheduled date. We'll be having ham as usual; probably cut too thick and with not enough side dishes. Her husband is a policeman who'll be on duty that night. He's a good guy, but...well...how about no buts at Christmastime. It's just not going to be cool until my husband is honest with himself. My mom's family being honest with themselves, that's another story.

They ask how he is, and some of them know I know they have their problems too. He doesn't owe them an apology for not being there last September when Dallas was born. He was in four days of detox. I wouldn't have told them if it weren't for the birthday party we were having together that day. My cousin drove me to the hospital and stood by me through the delivery. So did my mom and my sister. I believe he has yet to thank anybody for anything. I trust that will come with time.

I'm thinking I'll bring deviled eggs again. Last year they tipped in transit and the plastic wrap gave way, spilling them into the trunk. About nine stayed on the plate, nine halves that is. Aaron had put them back there with the gifts, and moments later found himself brushing the duds out onto the snowy street in front of my cousin's house. It was night. I made him clean them up even though my family said they would do it.

My mom gave me a deviled egg Rubbermaid after that. They're a family of helpers. It's how they care. How they love, that's another story.