It's Not a Holiday if Someone Isn't Crying
In honor of Cinco de Mayo, I decided to dedicate today's post to Holiday memories. Those joyous times of year where family gathers 'round the dining room table to revel in each other's company and to gaily while away the hours, wishing the day would never end.
Now that we've covered the Norman Rockwell version of Holidays, we can get back to reality.
I'll start off with a disclaimer: I adore my family. Without them, where would I be? Literally. They are the cream to my cheese, the egg to my nog, the apple to my sauce. I love them with all of my heart. Just not as much on Holidays. And the feeling is more than mutual, I know. Holidays should come with a warning label: Contents under extreme pressure. Approach with Caution.
As an adult, you're just not really around your family for an extended period of time all that often. It's a trade. As you grew up and moved out of the house, you talk on the phone much more than you used to, but see each other - all together - much less frequently. I'll see my brother one on one, and my parents one on one, but the four of us aren't together that often. That makes the Holidays a cauldron for disaster. And blogger fodder.
Let's set the scene: It's a random Thanksgiving in a random year. Dinner has yet to be served, but the parade is over. We are all dressed in our Thanksgiving day finery - which includes dirty jeans, flannel shirts and some form of pants that you are meant to sweat in. The sweat pants are worn on purpose. 'Cause history has shown, it's gonna get hot up in here.
We're all standing about, not quite sure what to do with each other, and hoping for a tranquil Holiday memory. It's pretty standard at this point. It's just the four of us, so we're not here to impress, and we shouldn't be. You're all happy to see each other, but don't want to piss anyone off. We all have our buttons. And we all know how to push them. Except Dad, he doesn't have a button - but he does know how to push them.
Then comes dinner. And the wine. And with the wine, comes the button pushing. I won't say it's a desire to button push, it's just a lack of caring if a button gets pushed. I know you know.
Someone will say something, then someone retorts, then someone else says something, then someone cries or gets mad. Or both. It's happened to us all - except Dad - and it can range from a minor blip, to a full out earthquake, the likes of which the richter scale cannot possible measure. This is where the sweat pants come in handy.
If everyone has made it through the dinner without leaving, I'll usually suggest a game. Which is greeted with sighs and moans. I get it. Trivial Pursuit is a long ass game. But I'm trying to make memories, damnit!! Plus, I love to play games and my cat just scoffs at the mere suggestion.
Now, just because the 4 of us have made it through dinner to game time, don't be fooled in to thinking you are home free. Heavens no! Game time brings about it's own pitfalls and landmines, that each of us must deftly try to maneuver if you are to make it out alive. Again, since the wine has and continues to flow, your reflexes aren't as good as they should be, and your tolerance for what you consider bullshit is at an all time low. Example:
Trivial Pursuit Question: What was the surname of the American Civil War general who has lent his name to prostitutes?
Answer Me: Hooker
Annoyed Retort from Brother: How the eff would you even know that? That's ridiculous. You get the simplest questions and I get "who was the first player to score a hattrick at the emirates" So annoying.
Me: Boo Hoo. Mommy loves you more, what do you care (wine, sob, whine, sob, wine)
End scene.
I know you're thinking: "It seems this could all be easily solved with the removing of wine from the dinner table" Are you nuts?! Wine and family dinners go hand in hand! The removal of this gift from the Gods, this elixir of truth, this liquid courage sealed with a cork would be disastrous. Without this wine, my brother and I wouldn't get the giggles at the expense of my poor Mom. Without this wine, you couldn't have those really "deep" moments where you tell your Dad that they just don't build guys like him anymore. Without this wine, you couldn't spontaneously cry over the thought of the four of you not being together in the future, then turn around - still with tears in your eyes - and curse your brother out for being such a douche.
We've started a tradition in my family over the last several years, to have a "theme". One year was "White Trash Thanksgiving" - served on a table covered with a sticky red and white checkered plastic tablecloth, Red Solo Dixie Cups, and plastic utensils. Another year we recreated the Pilgrims and Indians theme. (P.S. As history has proven, this ended in a blowout). Last year we were pirates - complete with tattoo sleeves and eye patches. This has served to lighten the mood. Somewhat.
Every family has their Holiday traditions. Some sing around a piano, others go out to a restaurant to avoid the kitchen duties, some don't celebrate anything at all. My family tradition is to eat, laugh, toss digs, scowl and throw snark. I wouldn't trade it for anything. I'll just continue to wear my sweat pants.
The most important thing to remember is this: It's not a Holiday if someone isn't crying.
With Love
Lady Butterfly
xoxo
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