FIVE! GO-OLD RINGS! (sweat stains, that is)

On the 80 millionth day of Christmas with the fa-mi-leeee…

Sometimes I just have to take a moment, slack-jawed in wonder, to appreciate the way the stomach can roil anxiously throughout a parental visit, only to have the heart turn bruised and tender as their on-the-horizon departure brings a feeling of sweet relief, accompanied by the emphatic guilt kickback for feeling such relief in the first place. Bad child! Bad!

I was going to present highlights of the family holiday visit lined up with the verses from The Twelve Days of Christmas, but you know what? That song is annoying and I’m fucking exhausted.

In no particular order:

1) Brother has grown a strange frame of beard for his face, and has attempted to grow a mustache (which he thankfully shaved mid-visit). I resisted making Amish/Abe Lincoln jokes all week, mostly because my parents seemed so eager to include the facial hair in their pick-on-our-son repertoire. The main event in said repertoire was telling all in attendance at Sister’s Christmas Day dinner (meaning not only family, but also Sister's playgroup parent friends) the tale of The Day We Discovered Our Son’s Penchant for Internet Porn. Fabulous!

2) Clod had a few too many rum and cokes and consequently became very talkative, detailing Sister’s issues and their shaky marriage to me. Hey guy? I know the counselor is advocating more communication, but I’m pretty sure she means with your wife, not with your sister-in-law, who seems to be doing a terrific deer-in-the-headlights imitation right now.

3) The Christmas Eve dinner at our place was a lukewarm success. I discovered that hosting a big dinner for your family is quite different, and horrifically more stressful, than hosting a dinner party for friends. Even if you’ve used a Honey Baked Ham gift certificate to provide the turkey, vegetable, two potato dishes, etc. Because, guess what?! Heating up a pre-cooked turkey still takes about FOUR HOURS, and a person needs more than one dinky little microwave to have all the side dishes ready at the same time. Oh, and making gravy from scratch? Tedious. And not really worth it. To further complicate the ordeal, leave everything and sit your heathen ass down in a church pew for a too-long service, rush back to the house only to have your entire family show up 30 seconds later, foaming at the mouth for a “nice family picture,” but your spouse isn’t back from the liquor run and everyone’s hungry so you end up spending the next hour and a half preparing the meal with your coat on because if you don’t you’ll surely spill something on your fancy clothes (and there is no good pause point in the meal prep to go pose for a picture and then change into jeans), and the dogs are running around crazy and no one is watching the baby (in a very non-baby-proofed house), and your mother keeps popping in to “help,” but drops the ball mid-task because she has recently morphed into an easily-distracted old lady…

4) So the family picture went well, with the exception of Brother looking stoned off his face with one eye closed, Mother outdoing him with both eyes closed, Monk gritting his teeth as he attempts to keep the dog in one place (so as not to give the camera a nice dog ass shot), and me, folded into the front row with a sweaty face, matted hair and a demonic glint in my eyes.

And now, on to planning our multiple-party New Year’s Eve (yes, that’s right, we are popular. Sort of), which will probably involve a lot less alcohol than the amount consumed over the past week would suggest. Because Texas does not rock with its lack of cabs and public transportation, and also because every day I wake up a little fatter than before and I’m starting to suspect that gallons of beer and wine and rum and coke may have something to do with it. Also maybe the cake, cookies and eggnog in the refrigerator that I plan to finish off this week. Well, you shouldn’t waste food, people.

Stay tuned for the New Year’s Resolution post in which I promise to lose 15 pounds over 4 months, patting myself on the back for being realistic and optimistic at the same time.

And then stay tuned for the post whining about a serious lack of self-discipline and the siren song of beer, pizza and ice cream.

1 comment:

Blogger Lisa said...

Congrats on just surviving the holiday. :-)

4:42 PM  

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