About six, or maybe seven, years ago, Mr. Hot and I stuffed a trio of Detroit Pistons tickets into Shortman’s stocking for the New Year’s Eve game. We lived 15 minutes from The Palace of Auburn Hills, so it was a quick run up I-75 for the afternoon game and an easy-peasy escape back down the road afterward.

Little did we know we’d be starting a tradition.

Things have changed. We no longer live an easy quarter-hour drive from the arena; it’s more like two hours. The Palace restaurant no longer offers a buffet spread prior to the game, it’s concession stand food or nothing. Shortman no longer looks up to the players; he’s now taller than a good number of them.

But always, it’s the three of us. It’s always tickets stuffed in the stocking amongst the gold-foil covered chocolate coins. It’s always “Deee-troit Basketball” and Shortman’s love of Dippin’ Dots (which are, thankfully, still available at the game).

I’m not sure we’ll make it back for New Year’s Eve 2010. We’ll be living in Chicago – and although the 160 miles we’ll travel today is do-able for our little family’s tradition – 600 is a bit much. We may have to make due with the Bulls – who, coincidentally, are the Pistons’ opponents today.

It hurts a bit to think that this will be our last trip up to The Palace – and that we almost didn’t stuff those tickets in that stocking this year. We asked Shortman if he still wanted to go, if he wanted us to get tickets. He looked at us as if we’d lost our minds – “Those tickets are ALWAYS in my stocking.” – and so, they were. At least this one last time.

And this one last time is going to be AWESOME.

—- Happy New Year to all of you – thank you for sticking around in 2009, for making me laugh and cry, for offering words of encouragement and swift kicks in the pants when needed. May 2010 bring you happiness, healthiness and all of the wonderment and possibilities that it offers. —-

So, the other night, I tweeted this:

On the way to the Eastern Eagles basketball game. Instead of visiting my brother at parents.

The Golden Child was in town. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t want to see him (okay, maybe it was), but y’know, Shortman was home and he had a speech to write and we needed to go get water…and…well, okay. I’m not a fan. Send me to Hell now.

The Golden Child is just…too…much. He’s holier than thou (mou?); he talks to me like I’m his “slightly slow” niece rather than his older (and smarter) sister. He’s married to The Bitch Who Stole Christmas. Oh mah holy hell, y’all, he’s married to a Canadian*!

When I called Mom to find out what time T.G.C. was leaving on Sunday, she said, “In the morning.” I said, “Oh, Shit.” (Yes, I did. She taught me the word, she should certainly expect me to say it.)

Then I told her that we had plans for the day and that I wasn’t sure we’d make it over to see everyone before T.G.C. left. She offered that they may be going down to The World’s Foremost Outfitter and if they did – would stop by.

So, we waited. I only had ONE vodka/limeade just in case. Mr. Hot and I sat at the kitchen table, each engrossed in our own online activities and we waited some more. Finally, we ventured into the living room and called Shortman down to watch this movie with us.

Around 9 pm, the phone rang.

Did you see something on your front door?

said Mom.

Yea. They stopped by. At six-ish. While Mr. Hot and I were in the kitchen and Shortman was upstairs working on his speech. T.G.C. didn’t even knock on the door – just walked up, looked around (the television wasn’t on, and since the lights weren’t blaring – we’re GREEN around here…), decided we weren’t home. He wrote a note and left.

—- Do you think maybe he doesn’t want to see us? —-

*Her being Canadian probably didn’t have anything to do with her stealing Christmas. I have NOTHING against Canada or Canadians in general – only the particular Canadian that married my brother, moved him to Ottawa, told him Christmas was BAD and made my mother cry on more than one occasion. THAT Canadian can get kicked by a Mountie’s horse.

…the Kindergartener:

My goolfwiend keeps huggin’ me ‘n tellin’ me to jump up and down.

—- And he was absolutely disgusted about the whole thing. —-