In Which I Survive A Family Vacation. Totally Sober.

The kids and I just got back from a week in Lake Tahoe. With my parents. And my aunt. We drove, or rather, my father drove all of us. 9 hours up there. About 11 back. All in one car. My first vacation sober in memory.

The last time we went on a "family vacation" was about two years ago. We took the kids and joined my husband's family at a place we used to frequent on the coast of South Carolina. I made sure we stocked plenty of wine and vodka and while I wasn't drunk all day, every day, I observed a four o'clock happy hour and kept it up until about midnight.

My own family, like most people's, is a cast of characters. My 77-year old aunt has worn an Elizabeth Taylor-style wig since before I was born. When I was young, she was the only one who understood why I HAD TO HAVE THE RED MARY JANE SHOES even though they hurt my feet. We share an interest in sparkly jewelry and celebrity news. She has become a bit forgetful, though, and tends to talk about people and places in vague pronouns, which can make it difficult to have a conversation with her.

This exchange happened in the car on the ride back after we identified the song on the radio as written by Janis Joplin,

Aunt: "You know, she was with that actor who played in that movie with Barbra Streisand."

Me: "Kris Kristofferson?"

Aunt: "Yes. They were all set to get married."

My father: "I thought she was a lesbian?"

My aunt" "That's right."

(At this point, Dad and I pause, not sure where this is going)

My aunt, clearly comfortable with the way this is going: "They were both schoolteachers."

(My father and I exchange a glance in the rearview mirror that says we don't believe this is true, but really, you're going to question the woman who knows more about celebrity gossip than E! ?)

My father becomes the Great Santini on a road trip. I was instructed that the children and I should be ready at 5 a.m. SHARP, or we'd be left behind. We were ready. Let the record reflect that they were late, although I'm sure that had more to do with the foot-dragging of my stepmom and my aunt. On the way home, he grumbled to me when I said I needed to use the bathroom, "Just like when you were a kid--always had to go to the bathroom." "Dad, our last stop was THREE HOURS AGO!" He was unswayed. Apparently he has a bladder of steel.

My stepmother is the family's beloved control freak. She is the glue that keeps us all together, the planner, the one who makes family meals and family vacations happen. She is a stunning force of nature. She told me once that if everyone would just live the way she told them to do, we would all be much happier. On a regular basis, she pushes us all a little too far and we snap at her. Bless her, she is unfazed, and retreats to fight another day.

By the time we all arrived in the Sierras, I was pooped, cranky. Stepmom sidles up to me and whispers, "I have a xanax, do you want it?" Apparently recovery from alcoholism doesn't preclude a little light pill abuse in her book.

I can't say it was a relaxing vacation, and I kind of wish I'd hunted down an AA meeting, just to see what sobriety looked like in Lake Tahoe, but I'm proud to say I got my kids up on a snowboard and skis, respectively, and we had some good solid family fun.