One of my cousins once was asked to leave a casino in Las Vegas because her incessant chattering was confusing everyone at the blackjack table, particularly the dealer. If my family visited Las Vegas, we would follow right in her footsteps. How do I know? Well, tonight we decided to play cards together and one of the kids suggested poker. So we got out the chips (because there is no way I�m willing to lose good money to those two) and we began playing.

You may think you know the participants if you�ve been reading this journal regularly but you�d be wrong. Day-Hay, the solemn child whom I sometimes have trouble reading, becomes very expressive at the poker table. If she gets good cards, she turns red and grins ear-to-ear. If she gets bad cards, she bonks her head against either her hand or the table, whichever is more convenient. The only sign of the child that I usually know is that you cannot bluff her out if she has anything at all. You can�t do it because she will not fold if she has anything.

Kat should be good at bluffing. After all, she�s an actress. Sometimes she does bluff well but it�s usually because this generally bright child has forgotten what cards are in her hand or, like her mother, has inadvertently laid down the cards she meant to keep in draw poker. I think she also forgets to ante up from time-to-time but I still haven�t been able to prove it. When, as usual, I am losing, I keep telling myself that I might as well watch to see if Kat is the reason that we have four people and only three white chips in the middle to start.

Then Kat confuses me entirely. She likes wild cards. I can never remember which cards are wild. Mr. Philately has pointed out that Kat always uses some combination of one-eyed jacks and suicide kings as her wild cards. I know that. I just can�t remember which combination is for which round. Heck, I can�t keep track of what round it is. Something about dealing for me and then shuffling for her tends to confuse me. I can�t remember whether it�s my deal or hers.

As for Mr. Philately, the usually modest Mr. Philately, he�s down at his end of the table telling me he has more chippies than I have. (Of course he does, I�m a terrible player. EVERYONE has more chips than I do.) While I�m watching to see what Day-Hay has, trying to check if Kat is ante-ing up, and trying to keep track of my deal, all I can think to tell him is that I�m really not interested in his sex life at the moment. Because the kids are present, I just grunt and tell him that he might want to remove the glitter that�s hanging off his nose. (Actually, the glitter is hanging everywhere. I was using the table to decorate some t-shirts and it takes multiple washings to remove all the glitter.)

The strongest thing anyone had had to drink was soda pop. With all the giggling and silliness, you�d think someone must have had something stronger. Worse, as Kat pointed out, her seizure medication is supposed to have a sedative effect. If that cackling teenager was sedated, I�d hate to think what things at the table would have been like if she had not been.

It was a fun evening. It was a good, family evening. Supposedly it was a poker evening. But I don�t think any of us will say, �Vegas, here we come,� anytime soon, not even Day-Hay who won. We�re all too sure Vegas would hate us.

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