|DIARY OF AN URBAN MILKMAID|
|My family. Errrrgh!
The holidays are approaching. I have grown to dislike some aspects of the holidays. The parts that pertain to my family of origin. Again - Errrgh!
You see, for most of my childhood, my little family of origin would pack itself up, and join my father's family of origin for Christmas dinner. You know, leave the new Barbie at home, and sit in my Grandmother's house, with my father and his brothers, while they drank beer and watched sporting events. I would pass the time, either sitting with the men, cracking and eating nuts from the ever-present bowl on the coffee table - or I would wander into the kitchen, and drink sugar-laden cups of coffee, while listening to the womenfolk talk as they prepared Christmas dinner.
My mother's greatest story, is how after some years, she rebelled against the status-quo. She refused to spend Christmas with my father's family of origin, because she felt it was important and fair for her children to have Christmas in their own home. My mother promised us, my brother and me, that when we were grown, with families of our own, we were not expected to spend each and every Christmas dinner at her table. Yeah. Right.
I realize this is partly my fault. I realize that if I'd had the ovaries early on in my marriage, I would have put a stop to the expected, nay, demanded presence at her holiday table... Mea Culpa, okay? But, here we are, 16 years later, and she's doing it again!
When I was a married lady, I got to prepare Christmas at my house exactly twice. Once, when my mother had a severe case of influenza, and once when I went crazy during my midlife crisis, and rebelled. I invited her to dine at our home, along with my father-in-law, brother-in-law, and his girlfriend. My mother staunchly refused, and cooked an entire Christmas dinner with all the trimmings - for my brother and herself. Bah! Humbug!
Last year, while she was still reeling from being tossed out of her luxurious apartment of 10 years, and made to live in a normal-sized, average looking apartment, she didn't feel up to her usual Christmas day. I volunteered to have Christmas at my house, and had the most wonderful time decorating and cooking and baking and fussing with table settings... My child was in heaven, as she didn't have to rush around getting up early, to open her gifts, so she could hit the shower and get dressed in time to arrive at her grandmother's house before the nagging phone calls started. "Why aren't you here??? We want to open presents!"
I mistakenly thought that my mother (who, incidentally stated this) was through doing Christmas every year, and was going to allow her children to cook dinner for her...
Yesterday, she gave me her "fabulous" idea for Christmas. We could all come to her apartment, and each of us could bring a dish! Fuck Me! Here we go again!
My entire life, that woman has considered us (me) less than a person, and not worthy somehow of consideration. Like me, my former nuclear family - my child even, aren't valid. The only thing that matters, seems to be her need to control us. While this Christmas thing may not be horrible, it just reminds me of all the little ways she's "done it" to me over the years. It pisses me off to no end that she holds on even tighter to us in her old age.
After sleeping on it, I made a decision. Sure. We'll show up for Christmas dinner. But only Christmas dinner. We'll bring a ham. Maybe even some vegetables. She, and my brother (her husband by proxy) can spend their entire morning, cooking a fabulous Christmas dinner in her home. My family, my kidlet and I, will spend our time, in our home, peacefully enjoying the day. And, if my mother gives me any shit about it - I'm going to tell her why...
|Buh Bye! |
October 05, 2008
Be Afraid, People.... Really Afraid
One Last Bitchfest for the Road
Get the Popcorn Ready
I'm a Rich Ho-Bag
|Marriage is love.|