Green and gold surround me. A swift jarring wind clashes into me as if its a bowling ball, and I am the pins. I’m sitting in a plastic foldable chair that creaks as I apply pressure. A TV stationed by the door blares the Packer versus Bears football game. Complaining echoes.

“Why are we outside? Let’s watch the game inside. It’s too cold out here!” my aunt exclaims.

“You’ll be fine! Doesn’t it get cold in New Zealand?” my mother replies. She doesn't want to cause a fight (we only see her once every four years).

“Yes, but when it’s cold, we stay inside like normal people!”

It was too late. The confrontation had begun.

I instantly moved towards my cousins Carter and Addy. At least they can make conversation without fighting.

It’s halftime. We have had our meal—chicken and potatoes—during the first half of the game. It’s time for the desert. Oreo fluff, made by my mother specially for this event.

She whips the sliding door to the porch open holding a blue bowl containing what looks like the Rocky Mountains themselves. In the background, I hear my aunt whimper about the cold. Carter and Addy explode and run to get their hands on the first bowl. My aunt, following her childrens’ lead, leans over the bowl to look inside. “Teresa, this looks horrific! How can you serve this for desert?”

Her children violently tear into the fluff, filling up their own bowls and eating them faster than the commercial break on TV.

“Give it a try, Adrian.”

My aunt cautiously dips a spoon into her sons bowl and scoops out a small glob of fluff.

“This is amazing!” Adrian shouts.

And for the remainder of the Packer game, no one complains about the cold again.