For those of you who have missed Grandpa and the Gang, a new letter from the diva of dysfunctional families.

My Dearest Son,

I would like to say that the holiday season has put a much merrier glow on my life. I would like to say that, but I am an honest person, and tend to tell the truth even when I don’t like it.

Just in time for Christmas, your sister, Daughter of the Morning Star, has given me what she assumes is a wonderful, joyous and much appreciated gift of a grandchild. Why she assumed the news would be wonderful, joyous or much appreciated when she is not married, not supporting herself, and not living somewhere else I don’t know. However, she was just beaming with excitement as she told me about this forthcoming grandchild. I wanted very much during the conversation to call the men with the white coats your grandmother always threatened me with, but I refrained because I don’t think the family would take kindly to having our names bandied about during the holiday season. It might limit the number of well wishes and fruitcakes they receive.

To put this in perspective I will share the conversation with you as best I can remember it.
DOMS—“Mom, I have a wonderful surprise for you!”
ME—“I hope it has nothing to do with front pages of newspapers.”
DOMS—“Oh mom, you can be so droll. No it’s the most exciting thing that will ever happen to you.”
ME—“You and your grandfather are both moving out.”
DOMS—“You are in a rare humor this morning, mother, or should I say “Grandma?”

It was at this point that my mind zeroed in on what she was saying. I fear my reaction wasn’t what she expected or hoped for.

ME—“If that last statement is meant as a joke, I’m not laughing, if it’s meant to tell me you’re pregnant, your next sentence better me, I’m moving out tomorrow.”
DOMS—“Oh, mom, why would I leave you at a time like this? A woman needs her mother when she’s pregnant.”
ME—“Tell me, did you need me at the time you got pregnant? Did you need me when you left me here alone with your grandfather to live with Diatra? Did you need me when Mr. Spindleleg left? No, you didn’t, so, you don’t really need me now, do you?”
DOMS—“But, mommy…”

I knew when she used the word “mommy” that there was more to the story than I wanted to hear, but she refused to shut up.

DOMS—“You don’t understand, this is no ordinary child I having.”
ME—“That is an easy assumption considering the family its being born into. It would be a miracle if it were ordinary.”
DOMS—“Mother, you don’t know the honor that having this baby is. And the benefits to you as the grandmother will be tremendous.”
ME—“Tell me, how is you having a baby that you can’t afford, I will have to pay for, and will probably be like you and not sleep through a night until it’s thirty be a benefit to me?”
DOMS—“My son, and it will be a son, is the first interplanetary child to be born on earth. I am to be the mother of the next step in the evolution of humankind, and you by being my mother will be honored as the grandmother of a new race of humans.”

It was at that point in the conversation that I had an overwhelming desire to make this morning’s setting of the morning star the last either you sister or I ever witnessed, but I thought better of it in time to hear her next sentence.

DOMS—“Singhe Sanghe Songhe has chosen me for this honor, why can’t you ever just accept that I’m more special than you thought?”
ME—“Who the hell is Singhe Sanghe Songhe?”
DOMS—“The fact that you have to ask proves that you never listen to me when I talk to you about things that are important to me. I told you all about him. He’s the group leader for my ASPIC group.”
ME—“He makes jell-o molded?”
DOMS—“MOTHER! ASPIC is an acronym for American Society for the Propagation of Interplanetary Children.”
ME—“Refresh my memory, how many people are in your group?”
DOMS—“25.”
ME—“How many are women?”
DOMS—“24.”
ME—“How many are older then 30?”
DOMS—“None.”
ME—“How many of you are pregnant?”
DOMS—“17.”
ME—“Tell me, does it seem at all strange to you that Singhe Sanghe Songhe is the only man in a group of 25 people under the age of 30 and 17 of the women in the group are pregnant at the same time?”

Ignoring my question she chose that moment to inform me that the newest chapter of ASPIC was in the Great North West, and if her new religion was good enough for Mr. Spindleleg to start his own chapter, it should satisfy me that it was legitimate. Before I had a change to reply, your grandfather walked into the kitchen. I thought his presence would end the discussion; I was wrong. She proceeded to tell him about he baby. His reaction was not one of awe, or even anger as you might expect. He laughed and said, “You know something, I have the only granddaughter who would have add fifty points to her IQ to be classified as a dumb.” That did end the discussion. Your sister left the kitchen in tears with your grandfather’s laughter echoing in her ears.

Well, my dearest son, I will close for now. I’m just not up to telling you the rest of the story at the moment.

Write soon,
Love always,

Mom.