Today my mom & I went to visit one of her friends. Every Christmas my mom likes to make gingerbread houses with young cousins & friends, although this year no one has contacted her (bastards!!) This was the first day her friend could free up for houses, so we bundled up the Blake and took us off to Orangeville for the day.

I didn’t really enjoy myself, partly because I had two social choices: hang out with the kids (Blake, a five-year-old and a two-year-old), or sit quietly while my mother & her friend gossiped about nursing. Bo-ring.

I was also filled with uneasiness just being in that house. My mother's friend chose to move an hour north of Toronto so that they could get (an admittedly excellent) new house for a reasonable price. It's a devil's bargain I don't particularly look forward to for the day when I myself reach an age of fiscal responsibility. My problem is that I can't bring myself to live on the outskirts of anything, at least not happily. Our time in Wolfvegas has taught me the beauty of small town life (or at least the beauty of small university town life) so it's not the size that's at issue. It's the proximity. I could live in Lunenberg, but not Sackville, if you get my drift.

City or price: I need one or the other, not some vague approximation of both that's really neither.

A few moments, recapped.

Christmas this year was excellent. Blake is at an exceptionally fun age right now, and there's nothing much going on to bring me down this year. (As described in an earlier gloomy rant.) I finished my shopping in good time, the Boy was considerate and inspired, my family was as gentle as could be expected, and we all escaped with a minimum of hurt feelings. But more than that, I really enjoyed myself. I dunno; some years you can belt Christmas right out of the park and this was one of them.

Everything began to gather steam on Christmas Eve. The Boy put in a long-overdue call to his mother, inquiring about her Christmas plans. He found out that she had both no presents for us (which I don't consider a big deal) and also no plans to meet up over the holidays. She extended a vague invitation to "come over on Christmas Day," which the Boy grasped at like a drowning man. I, however, am sick of upsetting all our plans on a moment's notice EVERY YEAR. No joke: every Christmas Eve, the Boy & I have a vicious argument because his mom can't get her shit together regarding Christmas. He feels obligated to go for the sake of filial loyalty; I feel obligated to refuse for the sake of my sanity. Also I consider it a pretty big insult to confirm Christmas plans with my family 2, 3, 4 weeks in advance and then blow them off at the last minute.

Every. Year.

This year I brought things to a boil in my usual artless way. We were driving to the Christmas Eve service and the annual argument was just starting to sizzle. Then I left the script entirely.

"I'm sick of this. I'll be damned if that bitch is going to ruin one more Christmas for me," I declared in a low voice.

The car screeched to a halt. "If you ever call my mother a bitch again..." the sentence hung in the air.

"Get out of the car."

And that was how I ended up going alone to church, and how the Boy walked home alone on Christmas Eve. Later we hashed it out to our satisfaction and I was able to admit that I don't really think his mother is a bitch. Still, I think it was the best statement I ever made. I've spent far too many Christmas Eve services with the Boy sulking and bitching throughout. This year, because I shot off my mouth, I was able to enjoy myself and my excellent boy in a candlelit church. Huzzah.

No, it was a good thing. Trust me.

Christmas Day was remarkably serene, considering the warm-up act. We all got up at 9 when my mom came home from work, ate pancakes, and opened our swag. Blake made out like a bandit (everything lights up and plays 17 songs. Get ready for lots of migraine stories in the coming year!), but we called a halt to his material orgy halfway through so he could relax a little. I'm immensely pleased with my choices for him: a sheepskin rug, an abacus and three new board books. (Yes, I'm a big nerdly hairy granola momasaur. Wanna make something of it?)

While my mother grabbed a few precious hours of sleep, I was in charge of cooking veggies, cleaning house, and generally keeping everything on the rails. This meant that I got to boss around the Boy & my dad, dispatching them on various tasks as the morning turned to afternoon. Fun! My grandparents came over much too early, as is their wont, and from then on I lost control of the scene. But as every one else cancelled (suicide, snow & surgery respectively), we had quite an intimate Christmas dinner after all. I never did get to change out of my new Vendetta shirt, old jeans and new fuzzy bee slippers.

God bless us, everyone.

Boxing Day with the Boy's Clan was also relaxed and happy. I spent most of the day eating chocolate and chasing Blake as he explored the wonders of a house with a fan, a cat and a fish tank(!). By far the most entertaining was when the Boy's mother called to bow out, saying she was snowed in. We watched the weather channel for a good 20 minutes to confirm (well, actually to deny) her story, then gleefully set to the gossiping. "Storm front?" one of her sisters said, "must be one from all her hot air."

I was just happy because I'd remembered to take an antihistamine. I always forget to dose up and thus always spend Boxing Day descending into a sniffly horrid mess. The day before I'd made a vow to remember. At that time, the Boy was chopping chillies for guacamole.

"I'm going to take my pills tomorrow, Boy! Then I won't have to be miserable for Christmas," I said gleefully.

Without looking up, he said, "oh, I'm sure you'll find some reason to be miserable." There was a deadly silence. "That sounded different in my head," he said, as I started to laugh.

- 0 comments/hedgehogs -

- Rocketbride's adventure of 12/29/2004 09:12:00 p.m.