Well, it's over. Mom and Jesse left this afternoon, after only a minor hitch. (Right about the time her ride was supposed to arrive, she got a call. I figured this meant she was stuck, or, more accurately, I was about to make a three-hour drive to turn around and come back. But before even telling me her beau's car had broken down, she'd arranged for someone else to come and get her. Sweet.)

And it was relatively painless. In fact, a little weird how little I felt about the whole thing. It was sort of like a scar -- if you rub your finger over the rough skin, it might tingle a little. And looking at it will always remind you of the pain that was there. But it doesn't hurt anymore; it's just a part of you.

She did annoy me, over and over. And I can hardly look at her, she embarrasses me so. (And then I'm embarrassed that I'm embarrassed, it's a vicious cycle.) We took her and Jesse to an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet today, figuring surely I wouldn't see anyone I knew. In we walk, and there sit two of my faculty members. I sped up a little as I waved at them, hoping they'd think it was just Em and I and the weird woman behind me was a stranger.

Episodes of ER have made me feel more than this weekend did. And I'm OK with that.

Legos and the Bible. These folks gotta live in the Heartland.

Funniest.Site.Ever.

So, my family just left to get stoned, giving me some lame excuse about going to the store. Clever as I am, I asked them to pick up milk.

Don't know why I amuse myself so, only that I do. I guess I should be glad they didn't do it in the backyard. It just makes me pissed that they felt they had to lie. Granted, what would I have said to, "We're going to drive around and get high"?

Adam's clever comment (to me, of course): "That's one way to celebrate the harvest."

(BTW: Dinner rocked. And it was actually pleasant. After Em's in bed, we're all going to watch Fight Club. How's that for a "be grateful" theme?)

A new DotMoms post up here.

Yes, I'm still sitting at the computer. It's in the room with the TV, at least. This counts as family time.

So, here we are. Not quite 3 p.m. Turkey's in the oven. Stuffing and to-die-for mashed potatoes ready to go in, too. Cranberries are relished, carrots waiting to be candied. Cream-pecan pie (possibly the only "special" thing my family does; I've never heard of anyone else make it or even found a recipe) chilling in the fridge. Emma's asked about 10 times, "Can I have my pie now?"

She's napping in her room; Jesse's snoozing on the couch. Mom and her boyfriend, Phillip, are watching football. I'm blogging and emailing with friends doomed to work today; Adam's playing online. You'd think we were just your average family.

Actually, it's going quite well. I picked Jess up at the courthouse yesterday, timed it so I didn't even have to wait for him. He's pretty nervous, as his trial is set for two weeks from now, and he doesn't have a lawyer. As he puts it, he's "guilty as sin." We read over his legal papers (sure there's a word for them, but I'm not experienced with this stuff) over and over. Some discrepancies, so he's hoping maybe that'll count for something. But he seems pretty sure he's going to go to jail, possibly for a while. They've got an affidavit from the cop called by the hospital chaplain, who found the stuff on him -- though why the chaplain would've been going through his pockets, I don't know. It looks pretty cut and dried.

We tried to do some research online, find out the range of penalties for his crime, to no avail. (Funny, though, if you do a Google search for "Oklahoma" and "controlled and dangerous substance," my blog comes up.) He's thinking about it. That's something.

Last night, Adam took Emma to her Gymboree class, and Jess and I just hung here. It was really awkward at first, the first time we'd spent that much time together, much less alone, in years and years. But I fed him, again and again -- you'd think he hadn't eaten in years. He was way impressed with my marinara sauce, which was flattering, and wowed that Adam knew how to cook at all (devoured the last of this week's chicken tacos). We watched most of a movie. And just talked. Not about much, just stuff, including the situation with his girlfriend and two kids. Not good.

Today, Mom and Phillip arrived. I've got dinner under control. The house reeks of smoke, even though all three of them go outside to do so (inside isn't even an option). But that, grossly, smells like Thanksgiving to me, mixed in with sage and cranberries and rolls.

The day is long from over, but it's been tolerable so far. And in the best of families, how much more can you wish for?

If you're not a Hedwig junkie, you don't know what you're missing.

Rock. Poetry. Love. War. Comedy. Tragedy. Plato. Botched transsexual surgery. What more could you want? It's one of my top 5 fave movies AND top 5 fave CDs. How often does that happen?

I'm planning to introduce Mom to Hedwig this week. She taught me how to love rock and roll, and I'm hoping she'll get Hedwig. And if not, she can just listen to me belt out the songs.

(If you live in Oklahoma, come on over. I'll bust out the DVD and watch with you. And I'll try not to sing aloud. OK, I'll at least try not to sing too loudly. Or heck, stop by my office, and I'll serenade you. The CD is always in my stereo -- I won't even make you listen to Once More With Feeling.)

Some of the best lyrics ever written, right here for you ...

Wicked Little Town
(Hedwig's version)

You know, the sun is in your eyes
And hurricanes and rains 
and black and cloudy skies.

You're running up and down that hill.
You turn it on and off at will.
There's nothing here to thrill
or bring you down.
And if you've got no other choice
You know you can follow my voice
through the dark turns and noise
of this wicked little town.

Oh Lady, luck has led you here
and they're so twisted up
they'll twist you up. I fear.

the pious, hateful and devout,
you're turning tricks til you're turned out,
the wind so cold it burns,
you're burning out and blowing round.
And if you've got no other choice
you know you can follow my voice
through the dark turns and noise
of this wicked little town.

The fates are vicious and they're cruel.
You learn too late you've used two wishes
like a fool

and then you're someone you are not,
and Junction City ain't the spot,
remember Mrs. Lot
and when she turned around.
And if you've got no other choice
You know you can follow my voice
through the dark turns and noise
of this wicked little town.

Wicked Little Town
(Tommy Gnosis's version)

Forgive me,
For I did not know.
'Cause I was just a boy
And you were so much more

Than any god could ever plan,
More than a woman or a man.
And now I understand how much I took from you:
That, when everything starts breaking down,
You take the pieces off the ground
And show this wicked town
something beautiful and new.

You think that Luck
Has left you there.
But maybe there's nothing
up in the sky but air.

And there's no mystical design,
No cosmic lover preassigned.
There's nothing you can find
that can not be found.
'Cause with all the changes
you've been through
It seems the stranger's always you.
Alone again in some new
Wicked little town.

So when you've got no other choice
You know you can follow my voice
Through the dark turns and noise
Of this wicked little town.
Oh it's a wicked, little town.
Goodbye, wicked  little town.

Make a Flake is the coolest time waster I've found in a while. Learning to use the scissors takes a bit, and I think the snowflake it creates is probably a little more precise than it would be if I'd really hacked at a piece of paper like that.

Look for flake 514705 in the gallery, if you'd like, but I think those other folks probably practiced more than I did before saving their creations. Or are just better with a pair of scissors. Growing up, I'd always make that one wrong cut that meant I had six little pieces of paper instead of one flake.

I am inspired to try some paper snowflakes with Emma. As soon as we're through with Thanksgiving, and we move on to winter and Hanukkah instead of fall and turkeys ...

Guess how I get to start my Thanksgiving holiday?

By picking my brother up at the Oklahoma County Courthouse on Wednesday, assuming he does get to leave after his hearing. I'm a little sketchy on the details.

Jesse was in a head-on collision (the one that scared Emma so) this summer. My mom called before I was awake one morning -- and though those phone calls are never a good sign, I was guessing it was a day-care emergency. Jesse had driven his boss's truck across the yellow line on a rural Oklahoma highway, crashing into a car filled with a young family -- Dad, Mom and two kids.

I won't go into the whole story here. The family's fine. Jesse's OK now, mostly. Still dealing with a lot of pain in his jaw and a number of his teeth that were knocked out of whack. I haven't seen him in quite a while, so I don't know how the scars are healing. But since he's coming for Thanksgiving, I hope for Emma's sake they look better.

He's being charged with possession of a controlled and dangerous substance. I guess the hearing is in Oklahoma County because whatever he had on him wasn't found until he was at the OU Medical Center, rather than where he had the wreck (he was helicoptered in). He's very lucky that's the only charge, too.

Jesse and I chose to handle our childhoods in very different ways. Or maybe he didn't choose the life he has. Mom threw me in his face one day, long after I was gone, just like all the parenting manuals say not to do. "Why can't you be more like your sister? She blah-blah-blah." "I live in a drug house!" was his response. I'm really proud of him for saying it. But even seeing that wasn't enough for him to get out.

We were very, very close growing up. He's five years younger than I am, and I took care of him right until I left for college. I tried to keep him out of harm's way as best I could, to bear the brunt of the responsibilities on my own. I can clearly remember him carrying a baseball bat into my bed, him about 10, me 15. Mom and David were fighting, and Jesse really wanted to stop it. We stayed awake for hours, listening.

After I left for OU, Mom and David expected Jesse to pick up the slack. He should be doing all the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, the shopping I'd done. Can't blame him for not letting all that fall on his shoulders. He rebelled, again and again, and stayed in quite a bit of trouble.

We stayed close for a while, even after I left. He'd come and stay a night with me in the dorms. I bought his school clothes, moved him and Mom out of David's house a few times. They always ended up back. My sophomore year, I had a job and an apartment off campus. Between a regular paycheck and scholarships, I literally made more per year than the family. Jesse visited often, until it became clear that I couldn't buy him everything he wanted. His life got worse, and mine got better. We grew apart.

He and Adam barely know each other. Jesse had some stereotypical issues with Adam's Jewishness, and now, with mine. I'll give all that credit to David, too. The racist jokes Jesse learned at his knee are part of the life we lived.

The only time I hear from him now is when he's in trouble. And usually, it's not even him who calls -- it'll be Mom or his girlfriend, asking if I can bail him out. The last time, I refused, and it pissed a lot of my family off. I can handle that.

But I was the first person at the hospital after the wreck. I stayed all that day and many of the days that followed. And when I wasn't there, he was asking for me. The first few days he was really out of it and I wasn't always sure he knew who I was. But if he woke and I was gone, he'd beg someone to get me back. And once he was coherent, he'd bitch when it was time for me to get home, back to my own family.

We didn't talk much. I'd buy him ice cream sandwiches from the machine, dig glass splinters out of his back or help him with his chest tube. When we did talk, it was about whatever was on TV. He didn't want to confide or bond, but he didn't want me to leave, either.

He's been inside my house only once in the nearly four years we've lived there. And he's supposed to stay a few days this week, though I'm not sure he actually will. I can't imagine what we -- Adam, Emma, me, Jesse, my mom and her boyfriend -- will sit around and do. Mom and I have found some sort of peace with each other. We've set the boundaries for our relationship -- it's more of a careful friendship than a mother/daughter thing any more, if it ever was. But Jesse and I haven't figured out where we stand.

At least there will be food. And football.

Out of the blue recently, Adam told me that if he were to be in a bad car accident, I should remember the digital camera. So that I could take pictures for his blog. Uh-huh, yeah. That's going to be my first priority.

It's obviously his, though. After a pretty serious head injury on Saturday, the first thing Adam said -- after getting himself off the garage floor and into the house -- was "Get the camera."

So the gore is there to see, in all its various stages of glory. (He even took pictures of it yesterday, filled with pus. Those seem to have not made it into the "wound gallery" yet. I hope for his readers' sake, they don't. Trust me on this one.)