The Holidays

Here they come people .....................   brace yourself. 

I love the holidays, but I have had my share of holiday misadventures.  We all have the one or twenty relatives that we dread seeing or dealing with during the holidays, but I am learning to embrace it and actually have a little fun with them.  I'm stuck with them so why not make them do silly things to entertain me.

Let's start with my favorites.  The ones who want their holiday to be a picture straight out of the Saturday Evening Post.  Oh, how I yearn to disrupt and destroy their Martha Stewartesque atmosphere with three boys, 2 under the age of six and the third, an 11 year old with more attitude than Mike Tyson at his marriage counseling sessions.

In their mind it really IS possible to have this blissfully, perfect wrapped present filled scenario.  And they are absolutely committed to attempting this each and every year in spite of the fact that the holidays from previous years have been so incredibly filled with disappointment.  I LOVE these people.  My mom is one of them.

Countless hours are spent making sure every detail has not been overlooked.  That the house is decorated to perfection and smells like a nice warm cup of cinnamon tea.  The presents have hand made tags from previous Christmas cards that are just too precious to ever even think about throwing away.  The wrapping matches the tree decor and in the background just ever so gently tugging at your ear drum is the sound of Mannheim Steamroller's rendition of The First Noel.  She has painstakingly set the table with the finest Wedgwood china and silver.  Crystal glasses twinkle from the adornment of candles that is the master centerpiece.  The anti pasta is waiting for us with only the freshest pecorino romano and black olives that can be found.  The homemade sauce is bubbling on the stove and the smell of freshly baked lasagna is noticeable up to ten blocks away.  Ahhhhh ... and in we come! 

My dads already pissed because he still to this day does not know what he is celebrating.  He has his traditional kiss on the cheek, but the greeting has been changed from "I hope all you got me was a card" to "I hope you didn't get me a card.  Fucking Hallmark ... $5.00 for a god damn card.  Jesus Christ, it just says Merry Christmas."  And the fun begins.

I watch my mother's forehead with utter amazement.  I wonder how veins can pop so far out of someones skin and pulse in perfect time with the children's screams and never stroke out.  She's like a director of a an excellently written play as she continues to try to complete her set with all the necessary props.  The only problem is her actors are under qualified drunks and frankly more suited for B horror flicks.

I listen to her attempting to direct everyone, my father mostly, to follow the script to include the rewrites from the night before.  And then it happens, the 3 year old who has just disrobed down to his traditional baby Jesus nudity runs through the kitchen with a half ripped open present followed by the 5 year old screaming, "grandma got run over by a reindeer" and plows right into her forcing her to drop the cranberry mold she started chopping up nuts for and zesting oranges three days prior.  She pours a glass of wine sheds a holiday tear and end scene.

I love my mother from the very depths of my soul.  I admire her love for life and the little things in it, her relationship with all her brothers and sister, children and her husband who I am certain if I had to live with I would have hit in the back of the head with a frying pan.  If not for her, none of us would ever know what it means to love without hesitation and although we may seem to be oblivious Mom, we truly love all that you do to make our holiday picture perfect.

Now ...  off to fuck it up!  Who Does That?!