Patchwork

 

What do Lawson Sisters do on a Lawson Sisters' Weekend? I'll tell you.

We squish sisters, babies, suitcases, diaper bags, a cooler of healthy snacks, eight cellphones and two ipods in a Honda Odyssey from Montana and drive to Colorado Springs to Mother Bear's den. We sing to Bon Jovi, Rascal Flatts, Michael Jackson and "Come What May" from Moulin Rouge. We find gluten-free and dairy-free meals at fast food chains and swap drivers to allow for nursing and diapering and napping. We talk while enjoying the beautiful scenery of Glenwood Canyon. We learn that our phones even work in Eisenhower Tunnel, the longest tunnel I've ever driven through.

Once the eight of us are safely under one roof we eat homemade meals that satisfy our dainty cravings and do not hear our husbands complain of chick food. We go through 14 avocados and a flat of strawberries in two days. We eat like queens at the dining table that is set with different dishes for each meal. Mother Bear collects dishes.

We try to not go deaf from Andy's ringtone. We answer our own phones to hear spouses ask about laundry and scheduling and where the lemon juice is at the grocery store. We listen to our children say they miss us and our husbands inform us the stomach flu has hit home. We tell them we love them, hang up, and continue to have fun without guilt.

We nest in the basement, two to a buffet table or one per card table. There are two sewing machines, a serger, a Cricut, no less than 3,000 sheets of scrapbook paper, and enough stickers/embellishments to open our own store. We are outnumbered by punches ten to one. We drink water from our Teeno cups and snack on Herb Salsa and grapes and Moose Munch. We take turns picking cds. We sing along while Mother Bear whistles and the babies coo like doves. We eat nutella and wear pajamas and only shower if we want to.

We swap sister gifts and babies and stories. We laugh a lot. Steph teaches us how to do glitter toes and then Leesh, who is too burned out from her 3 trips to Walmart to actually scrap anything, gives us all pedicures on her hands and knees. We get to rummage through the pile of Tracey Imports and wear new earrings home. There are no curfews. There are no deadlines. We get dolled up to enjoy a lunch out on the town.

We eat half-price Sonic shakes lovingly purchased by Dad, who secretly loves Sisters' Week even though he is banished from the basement. What rooster doesn't love all his chicks back in the coop?

We enjoy four days of zero drama. We all needed this break.

It sounds utopian, no? It has been a long time coming.

I married a man with six sisters that were thick as thieves. Their mother lived to serve them. I had convinced myself that I was just a runt in-law piglet that had no chance of squeezing my way in for tasty milk. I tortured myself on and off over the years making up excuses why I'll "never be one of them." I don't listen to country music. I do my eyeliner differently. I hate American cheese. I don't talk on the phone enough. I refuse to shop the day after Thanksgiving. Well, they don't care. It doesn't matter that I'm different. Renee's letter sealed the deal. This weekend I finally realized that I can be a Lawson even though I am cut from Durkovich cloth. My cloth is a beloved square in the Lawson Patchwork Quilt. My differences are not only tolerated, they are embraced.

I never noticed how much stitching has taken place in Our Quilt over the last fifteen years. Careful, thoughtful, steady stitching. Lots of stitching that was no doubt a labor of love. Age and experience have taught me that we are unified although we are not the same. One yearns for a baby. One yearns for a house. One yearns for a husband. Different yearning, but yearning nonetheless. One will have her oldest leave home next year. One hasn't begun having children. Different stages, but similarly facing their personal unknowns. Our quilt of sisterhood will continue to bind us together through life's many care cycles. We will enjoy delicate handwashing, we will wince at rough machine washing, and we will grit our teeth and endure tumbling dry on high heat. Whatever life throws at us, we will take it together.

And we will snicker about goats. (Sorry, you had to be there.)