in the wee small hours of the morning

It all started Sunday night around 10:45.

Justin's parents and his brother Marc's family had been at our house visiting. A cousin of Justin's had recently returned from a mission and they'd come to see this cousin speak in church. But now, everyone had gone home except for Marc who was staying one more night with us because of a job that he needed to take care of in Boise the next day.

We'd just finished watching the local news and were sitting on our respective furniture discussing what we'd seen. Justin and I on the love seat, Marc on the couch. There was a small disagreement that had Marc laughing and me hitting Justin in the shoulder.

(he can be pretty ornery at times)

I moved to the computer to check my e-mail and see if I needed to take care of anything since I'd missed Primary. Justin got up to do something and discovered his hacky sack (he always corrects me and says it's called a sepa) lying on the counter. He started hitting it around with his feet and hands, still talking to Marc.

And that's when it happened. The late night talk.

I've become a supporter of the late night talk since I married into Justin's family. Before that I was mostly unfamiliar with it, but it's a staple in family get-togethers with the Vippermans. Whenever we find ourselves with family over-night (holidays, camping, Rob and Ashley visiting, other special occasions) it almost inevitably happens. The topics of conversation vary. Sometimes the mood is serious- discussions in the living room with everyone snuggled on couches debating religion or politics or parenting methods. Sometimes they're around a game table where everyone has a hand of cards and a soda and we end up laughing until we can't breathe.

You can't plan the late night talk. It just has to happen. And it has to be a late night talk. For some reason, it doesn't work the same at any other time of day. There's just something about the kids asleep, the dishes done, the tv off, the house dark and quiet and the participants sleep deprived that has people sharing feelings and beliefs, old memories and funny stories in ways that would never happen in a casual encounter at 2:00 in the afternoon.

Sunday night it all began with snowboarding stories.

I heard a few that were new to me but mostly they were the same stories that had been re-told a thousand times about awesome jumps and runs and colossal falls. Then the conversation (as it always does) moved on. Marc was standing up now, kicking the hacky sack (sepa!) back to Justin as we moved on to marriage, relationships. I still sat at the desk but wasn't facing the computer anymore. Both boys had to be up at 7:00 am the next morning but that didn't seem to matter. Soon they'd picked up my coffee table and set it on the couch to make more room for the game and the conversation seemed to expand right along it: the gospel, children, old feelings and getting past them. Soon it was midnight and we'd moved on to stories of Justin and Marc's childhood- some good, some bad. Every once in awhile one of us would notice the time and comment that we should head to bed but it wasn't until 1:30 when we finally and reluctantly called it a night.

Visiting or having family visit is a little difficult for me. I sometimes dread the extra work and effort of packing bags and dealing with strange surroundings or preparing a guest room and planning meals for more than the three people that I'm used to. But I love the late night talks. The late night talks reconnect us. The late night talks remind me of why I love my husband's family. The late night talks make it worth it.