We Are Family

This is, without a doubt, the latest blog post I've ever written.  It's also, without a doubt, the only (I think) blog post I've ever written while intoxicated.  That's a small miracle in itself, knowing my affinity for the alcoholic beverages, and while it might be advisable to wait until this is somewhat easier to type, I feel the need right now.  So ignore or forgive the typos.  I've fixed more than I've left, I guarantee.

I write this tonight after a night full of Family.  I was about to write "family fun," or "family frivolity," but it wasn't all something I could fit in those categories.  Good lord, that sentence was hard to type.

What I want to say is that I love my family.  Every last, flawed, dysfunctional one of them.  I love them!   They are the ones who made me who I am today.  I'm among the few who remained standing at the end of this evening's function, at the early morning hour of 3:00 a.m.  Part of that is self-preservation--everyone knows that the first person to leave a party is the one that everyone else talks about!  But part of it is about wanting to glean every last moment out of the few occasions that we all have to get together during the year.  I'm not going to leave at 8:30 when I might not see my cousins for another six months!  Life is too unpredictable, and I'm not missing chances.

We gather at holidays.  We rally at times of crisis.  But what we also do, and I know that every family does, is get caught up in the day-to-day where we go weeks or months without speaking or getting together.  It doesn't mean that the love isn't there, but it is a reflection of effort.

Today I cooked, I prayed, I hugged, I ate, I drank, I hugged, I joked, I danced, I comforted, I reminisced, I mourned, I enjoyed, I understood, I loved.  I laughed a lot, and I also cried a lot, more than anyone else.  I cried early on for those who couldn't be with us tonight.  Later on, I cried for those whom I miss terribly on a daily basis, and for those who are facing a crisis of their own.  At some point, I just cried because I couldn't stop.  All of those tears were shed with my family members.

I love my family.  They are most of who I am, and hopefully, most of who my son will continue to become.  I don't like everything about all of them, but I don't have to.  We have shared experiences, but also different perspectives on the same events.  We have differing opinions about things that may happen in the future.  All that being said, we love each other.  And that's really all I wanted to say.

Agrodolce

Yesterday was Mothers' Day.  I was treated to breakfast in bed and coupon for a "purple tree" from my two favorite guys, sent and received multiple mothers' day greetings from important people in my life, and stayed in bed so long that my back started to ache.

We met my mom and stepfather for lunch at our favorite Chinese buffet, and for a few minutes, it seemed like Wayne was going to slip into his usual "point out all the negatives" habit.  You know, like, "The crab legs are awfully small," or, "In places like this, there ain't nothin'..." but he settled down, and we enjoyed a very pleasant meal, complete with two of my favorite things, crab legs and sushi.  Ming Garden is like a tourist attraction, with its indoor fountain and koi pond, and fish tanks full of ichthyic creatures (yes, I had to look that up!). 

Much to everyone's horror, I called this the sushi tank--but I was the only one who had actually eaten any.  What were they worried about?

Mom was pleased with the treat and not having to cook, and we left mention of my brother by the wayside for the afternoon.  I had invited him to go, too, in spite of the fact that we aren't speaking, but he chose to ignore the text message entirely and not show up.  He can lie in the bed he's made, though. 

I wasn't quite ready to go home after lunch.  After all, the house was a wreck, and if we went home, I might feel compelled to clean it.  We took advantage of the beautiful, although cool and breezy, weather to head to the park, where we ran into friends of the family having their own Mothers' Day celebration.  The matriarch of that clan, a really good friend, made some well-meaning comments about Edna, and that's where the day went south for me.  In years past, I may have been angry at her for not knowing when to stop talking, but I know her comments came from the heart and stemmed from her missing Edna too, so forgiveness came easily.  The damage was done, however, and I was sad for the rest of the day, in spite of some very lovely moments. 

The beloved swan couple at the park are now proud parents of these fluffy little cygnets.  (I did NOT have to look that up!)  I could have watched them all day, and was happy to find this video so that I can. 

Andrew was excited that the train was open for the season and took two trips around with his daddy while I soaked up the sun and wiggled my toes in the cool grass.  Some boys were splashing in the creek beside me, chasing tadpoles and getting their shoes wet...I had to resist the teachery, mommy instincts to fuss at them for their language when they yelled, "Oh shit! There are thousands of them!"

I saw lots of interesting dogs while we were there, and was struck once again by how many dogs look like their owners!  You know who you are!  One more reason for me to be hesitant to get a dog--although in my case, I suppose any bitch would do.

There was one more task at hand after leaving the park, and that was the cemetery visit.  I was primed and ready for a good cry at this point, and the tears just rolled as I sat on the granite bench and mourned once again.  Does it ever stop?  It's a beautiful spot, but my favorite tree is dying.  I will be devastated when it does, and much of the beauty will be gone then, too.  This tree hugs me and shelters me when I am there, and when it's gone, visiting will be even lonelier. 

We made it home, finally, to the Sunday evening rush to get things ready for the week ahead...dinner made up of appetizer foods and an hour and a half with the heating pad playing Words With Friends and watching a Harry Potter movie with the boy as he cleaned up the devastation of the living room and an epic Star Wars battle.   All in all, it was a good day. 

And as seems to be my running theme, very bittersweet.

'Tis the Season...

...for me to be bahumbuggy and overly sentimental.  'Tis the season for my seasonal affective disorder to kick in and send me on a quest for sunlight and warm weather.  'Tis the season for me to get over one
illness and start right in on another.  'Tis the SEASON for me to start wondering where Santa Claus is going to find the time and the money to make Christmas happen..  And 'tis the season for the public to start acting in a very un-Christmasy manner.  Case in point, the lady who pepper-sprayed her fellow shoppers on Black Friday, the crowds that stampeded for $50 Blu-Ray players, and the shoplifting grandpa who cried foul when he was taken down by police.  Add to that list the family of ne'er-do-wells that ruined my annual Christmas parade experience.  A family that makes the Herdmans in The Best Christmas Pageant Ever look like angels. 

I'm trying, trying, trying to take the high road on this one.  It was obvious that the family came from limited means, both financially and...intellectually.  But it's hard for me to excuse bad behavior that so blatantly infringes on my enjoyment and well-being.  And when the "matriarch" of the family insists on blowing smoke around my head while she cusses about the "damn antique cars that don't belong in the damn parade," I sort of lose my tolerance for any shortcomings they might have to start with.  Clearly their kids would have been better off being raised by wolves, because at least a mama wolf will grab her cub by the scruff of the neck and jerk his little tail back into line. 

The smallest member of the family, a little boy of about four years old, was trying desperately to see the parade.  I can sympathize with that.  But, people, we were here two hours ahead of time to set up chairs on the curb so that MY son could have a good view as well.  There were plenty of other spots to stand with your brood, and that doesn't include allowing the little guy to squeeze between the armrests of of our bag chairs, when they were overlapping each other.  And it doesn't mean your little hooligan can punch the bottom of our coffee cup out of the drinkholder, spilling lukewarm coffee all over the hubby's pants leg. 

It also doesn't mean that you allow your ragamuffins to scramble over my head for candy canes and other little goodies being handed out by those in the parade.  You would have thought a small bag of local potato chips were made of gold, the way this lady shrieked at her kids to "Put your hand out, grab some!" into my ear. 

It certainly doesn't mean that I put my chair there for you to LEAN on during the entire parade.  Again, we were there early to avoid that very thing.  Plan ahead, come earlier, and get out of MY SPACE! 

It definitely doesn't meant that you irritate me to the point where I'm ready to say STRONG words to you, but don't because of worrying about making a scene with the Hoos from Whitetrashville.  And "lady," it CERTAINLY doesn't mean that you can push me to the brink of a brawl and make me leave before Santa Claus comes at the end of the parade! 

Yes, we took the high road and packed up our chairs, and they had the NERVE to glare at us for getting in their way as we vacated the curb.  I might have stood my ground a little bit longer, but it was raining pretty steadily at that point, and it just wasn't worth it to be miserable and risk losing my cool and making the front page of the paper. 

So, we might try again Friday night when our "other" local city has their parade, complete with the Marching Royal Dukes of JMU.  It can only get better, or so I would hope.  And if I make the paper this time, at least I'll be able to say, "I tried."