centre of the universe - the dreaming: mini-hiatus

10/12/2004: "mini-hiatus" I cooked a FREAKING HUGE turkey, made the world's best gravy and some pumpkin pies, took them to Outlook and had planned to take Thanksgiving dinner out to my father in the field. But he foiled the plan when he came in just as I was mashing the potatoes. The Captain was a little disappointed; he wanted a 'picnic', and I thought it would be cool for Mike to experience a harvest meal in the field.

All in all, though, it was nice.

Except for the inevitable headache I get when I spend any amount of time at my grandmother's house. :crazy: Don't get me wrong; she's a nice woman and I love her, but there are some things that drive me nuts. Not just the 'eat eat eat' attitude (she actually exhibits several kinds of OCD behaviour - the food thing is one of them. Checking to see if the garage door is locked seven times a day is another)...we have some incredibly different ideas about family and family obligations.

My grandmother seems to believe (and, according to people who aren't her, always has) that the sole reason for family, whether it's siblings, extended family, or your own offspring, is to cater to her. Not just 'take care of'. Cater. It's tiring. Especially when it's expected of a five-year old in the throes of a sugar rush (my father and grandmother don't respect my wishes to not feed my child crap...AND I had to explain five times why he's not to eat snacks just hours before supper) to come and sit quietly in gram's lap and suffer through mooshy sloppy wet kisses, uncomfortable hugs, and other things too ghastly to mention.

I know, I know. Grams love kids. That's great. I get that. I also, however, remember what it's like to *be* a five-year old in that situation. It was AWFUL. Being told I HAD to give someone a hug or a kiss, then trying to squirm away under scolding from my parents that "that isn't nice; sit nicely. S/He loves you!" I remember thinking, "great. It LOVES me. I'm not allowed to hold the cats when THEY want to get away..." So I go to bat for my boy, telling the family that "he doesn't want to cuddle right now, and even if he did, he couldn't sit still because he's had tons of sugar".

Which is, I think, fair.

But.

There's always a but.

While some family members will just feel a little sad and say, "okay..." or something, my grandmother sometimes proceeds into a full-blown *snit*. Luckily, not this weekend. But she does say things like, "you be good or your Papa won't want you here," and "You didn't wash your hands good [sic] enough. Your Papa won't want to play with you now". I think that's awful. (sigh)

Anyway, the actual dinner was nice, aside from having to explain for the millionth time that I don't feel sick, the rest of the family is fine, and The Captain is allergic to solid chocolate. We didn't sleep well (Dad and The Captain played outside long enough that we decided to stay overnight) and I don't like having to wear the same underpants two days in a row, but it was a nice Thanksgiving.

We're damn well having Christmas here, though.

"advice" "Money"

4 Comments

Der Kaptin , on Wednesday, 13th October:

What I want to know is why they can't just mix crushed up rolaids right in with the stuffing. Wouldn't that save a lot of time?

You can, at least, promise the cosmos that you aren't going to be a gramma like that. But rest assured that if you are, your children will be telling the little ones "now, come on, give Gramdma a big bite on her wrinkled, saggy, powdered neck. She loves you, you know. Don't be ungrateful, or she might take us all out of her will."

cenobyte , on Wednesday, 13th October:

Yeah! And what they *won't* know is that I will have spent my entire inheritance on cat toys, 'medicinal' marijuana and tequila, and showgirls in Vegas.

Churchy LaFemme , on Wednesday, 13th October:

Showgirls in Vegas? Aw, not you too.

Der Kaptin , on Wednesday, 13th October:

Here's a great Dilbert from yesterday, from my page a day calendar, which may or may not be relevant to certain people who are near and dear to us.

The subject of the day: Anne L. Retentive. The boss sez "Anne, I'm to task you with a deliverable."

Anne freaks out and says "Gaaa. *Task* is not a verb. My world is falling apart!"

As the boss leaves, he is thinking, "Tomorrow I'll ask her to timeline her project."

Reminds me of that old joke about the body parts discussing who is the boss.

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