Monday – Thanksgiving Family Overload
Dec. 1st, 2008 01:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
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Part of being a married couple is working around have two sides to your one family. For Thanksgiving Day this year, my husband's family called dibs, so we spent it with them. As a consolation prize, I told my father I would bring his grandson over the day after Thanksgiving to spend with him.
Two weeks ago when I asked if there were plans for Thanksgiving, my Dad answered, "Probably not." A few days before the big day, when he learned that my youngest brother, Ron, would not have to work (he is a corrections officer, and his 5-days on, 4-day off work schedule requires a calendar to keep track of when he can come around) and my oldest brother, Randy, would be home from Tennessee, he asked me what my plans were and if I wanted to join them for Thanksgiving dinner. During the first call, I think I did a good job of sounding regretful when I told him I had already made plans with my husband's family. I probably did a less convincing job of sounding excited when he called me back to let me know they would all put off Thanksgiving for 24 hours so I could be there. I had no choice but to resign myself to my fate and ask what I could bring to the meal.
Jeff was supposed to work that night, so he didn't have to go. I felt cheated when I got home to discover that he had called in sick.
"How was it over at your Dad's?" he asked, sitting up on his elbows in bed and sounding like death warmed over.
"Great!" I said cheerfully. "Ron and I got into an argument 30 minutes into my visit, so I left and went Christmas shopping. I barely had to see any of them. I'd say it was my best Thanksgiving over there in a long time."
Jeff groaned. I hate when he groans as I describe encounters with my family. It makes me feel self-conscious about our disfunctionality.
"What could you possibly get into it with Ron over in only 30 minutes?" he asked.
"I don't want to talk about it." The truth is, I can't say that none of it was my fault. "Let's just say he's a jackass and I'm never talking to him again as long as I live."
"Why? What did he say to you?"
"It doesn't matter what he said, it matters that he said it standing directly in my face and shouting. That might work fine for him when he's addressing a prisoner at work who's gotten out of line, but not when you're talking to a member of your family. He ticked me off, so I left."
The short version of the story is that I got the time confused with when Thanksgiving dinner would be. On Thanksgiving Day, my sister-in-law had said "between 1:30 and 2 o'clock." For the Day After Thanksgiving, mealtime was 1:30. I got there at 1:50. They ate without me, and it hurt my feelings. After greeting everyone I went in the back yard to feel sorry for myself. If they were going to put off Thanksgiving for a whole 24 hours so I could be there, it seemed that 24 hours and 20 minutes shouldn't have been that big of a deal. To be fair, I have a history of being chronically late. On my way over, since I believed we were eating later, I thought that for once in my life I was actually doing pretty well and would make it on time this year. My father called me after they were finished eating, when I was still 5 minutes away, to tell me I'd missed the meal. Not before they ate, but after. In hindsight, I should have said, "Well, damn. I got the time wrong. I'll go back home then, and try again at Christmas," and then done just that.
Despite my annoyance, I showed up. I had a whole covered dish of sweet potatoes that I wanted to leave with my father since they were so full of brown sugar (the way he likes them) that there was no way I could eat them myself without sending my diabetes into a tailspin. I wanted to stick them in my dad's fridge for him to either eat with the left over turkey or put on his compost pile to help him grow next spring's vegetables. If I had a compost pile in my own backyard, I may have gone home to dispose of them there.
The meal was inconsequential. I wouldn't have been able to eat anything at it, anyway. I'd been sick (whatever Jeff brought home, he'd shared), and my blood sugar levels were about 4 times what they should be. A normal blood sugar level in a normal person is between 90 and 120 mg/dL. Mine was 425 mg/dL when I left the house. At anything over 225, my brain chemistry is off kilter and I am unpleasant; I don't even like myself at these times. The only time I yell at my 4-year-old son is when my blood sugar level gets too high. Just before Ron walked outside, I'd re-tested and saw that I was at 362; it was coming down, but was still nowhere near normal. As a result, I was feeling emotional about things that I would usually have shrugged off. I'm used to my family, and I generally know not to take any of this stuff personally.
Ron approached me and asked what was wrong. I swore at him while he was still several feet away from him. He got within inches and swore back at me and by several more decibels than I had used. After a few minutes of back and forth my 13-year-old niece stuck her head out the door to see what all the commotion was about.
"Keep it down," I said evenly, "You're upsetting Carolyn." I decided to go for a drive to clear my head.
My father's house is just a few miles from Old Towne Spring, which bills itself as "A Unique Shopping Village." When I was a little kid the old part of Spring, Texas was a run-down area where the poor and destitute lived in houses that had once been nice but were falling apart. During the 1980's a group of local business people decided to buy up the old houses and turn them into shops that sell the sort of artsy, crafty stuff you would expect to find in a place that calls itself a Unique Shopping Village. I headed there to do something I haven't done in at least 15 years: spend the biggest shopping day of the year in the United States actually shopping.
My father called me on my cell phone shortly after I hit Towne, and I told him where I was and what I was up to. "I'm not talking to Ron anymore," I told him. "Let me know when the little twerp leaves, and I'll come back."
"I don't know what he said to you, but he said you weren't very nice to him, either."
"I probably wasn't, but if the way he handles a crying woman is to get in her face and shout obscenities at her, no wonder he's still a bachelor and no wonder he's going to die one. He's an idiot."
"You're probably right," my father said. "How long do you think you'll be gone?"
"Until I'm stable again and fit to be around people. I don't know. I don't feel good, Dad. I'll shop until I feel better."
We said goodbye and I put my phone back in my purse, where I didn't hear it ring the next 5 times when my father and oldest brother tried to call me. I'm bad about listing for my cell phone. When I hear a phone ringing, I always assume it's someone else's. After another couple of hours, I stepped out of a toy store and tested my blood sugar again. It was 150. I was normal. I felt normal. I was also enjoying my day. As I contemplated whether I wanted to return to my father's house and simply not talk to my brother or stay where I was, my phone rang again. When I answered it I heard my oldest brother say "Hi," both in the ear that I had the phone to and the ear that was facing the street. We hung up our phones and smiled at each other.
"Dad's in the car; we've been looking for you. He's worried."
I sighed. "Why? I told him where I was. I'm fine."
"Come back to the house. Ron's gone."
They gave me a ride to my car, and I went home the back way so I wouldn't have to follow them back to house and make it look like they had fetched me like a petulant child, which is exactly what they had done.
"Did you think I gave y'all the slip?" I asked my brother.
"Dad did. I knew you didn't." I only see my oldest brother maybe once a year, but he knows me better than my father does.
"You made your Dad and brother come looking for you?" Jeff asked with incredulous disgust when I told him the story.
"I didn't make them do anything. They knew where I was, and they came and got me. It was their decision."
"Why don't you answer your cell phone?" he asked. Half the time, I don't hear him calling me, either. He hates this.
"I do when I hear it; I just forget to listen for it. It depends what I'm doing."
"You amaze me," he said, shaking his head. I don't think he meant it as a compliment. "I will never understand your relationship with your family."
"That makes two of us," I told him.
Not understanding and misunderstanding are part of my family dynamic. The good news is that I only have to put up with this dynamic twice a year. We survived Thanksgiving; all I have to do is get through Christmas. I've decided that I can waive hello and goodbye to my youngest brother without violating my vow of not speaking to him. Nodding yes and shaking my head no are also allowed. As long as I don't open my mouth and say something I really mean to the little twerp, I'm sure we can endure future holiday gatherings without so much drama.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
Part of being a married couple is working around have two sides to your one family. For Thanksgiving Day this year, my husband's family called dibs, so we spent it with them. As a consolation prize, I told my father I would bring his grandson over the day after Thanksgiving to spend with him.
Two weeks ago when I asked if there were plans for Thanksgiving, my Dad answered, "Probably not." A few days before the big day, when he learned that my youngest brother, Ron, would not have to work (he is a corrections officer, and his 5-days on, 4-day off work schedule requires a calendar to keep track of when he can come around) and my oldest brother, Randy, would be home from Tennessee, he asked me what my plans were and if I wanted to join them for Thanksgiving dinner. During the first call, I think I did a good job of sounding regretful when I told him I had already made plans with my husband's family. I probably did a less convincing job of sounding excited when he called me back to let me know they would all put off Thanksgiving for 24 hours so I could be there. I had no choice but to resign myself to my fate and ask what I could bring to the meal.
Jeff was supposed to work that night, so he didn't have to go. I felt cheated when I got home to discover that he had called in sick.
"How was it over at your Dad's?" he asked, sitting up on his elbows in bed and sounding like death warmed over.
"Great!" I said cheerfully. "Ron and I got into an argument 30 minutes into my visit, so I left and went Christmas shopping. I barely had to see any of them. I'd say it was my best Thanksgiving over there in a long time."
Jeff groaned. I hate when he groans as I describe encounters with my family. It makes me feel self-conscious about our disfunctionality.
"What could you possibly get into it with Ron over in only 30 minutes?" he asked.
"I don't want to talk about it." The truth is, I can't say that none of it was my fault. "Let's just say he's a jackass and I'm never talking to him again as long as I live."
"Why? What did he say to you?"
"It doesn't matter what he said, it matters that he said it standing directly in my face and shouting. That might work fine for him when he's addressing a prisoner at work who's gotten out of line, but not when you're talking to a member of your family. He ticked me off, so I left."
The short version of the story is that I got the time confused with when Thanksgiving dinner would be. On Thanksgiving Day, my sister-in-law had said "between 1:30 and 2 o'clock." For the Day After Thanksgiving, mealtime was 1:30. I got there at 1:50. They ate without me, and it hurt my feelings. After greeting everyone I went in the back yard to feel sorry for myself. If they were going to put off Thanksgiving for a whole 24 hours so I could be there, it seemed that 24 hours and 20 minutes shouldn't have been that big of a deal. To be fair, I have a history of being chronically late. On my way over, since I believed we were eating later, I thought that for once in my life I was actually doing pretty well and would make it on time this year. My father called me after they were finished eating, when I was still 5 minutes away, to tell me I'd missed the meal. Not before they ate, but after. In hindsight, I should have said, "Well, damn. I got the time wrong. I'll go back home then, and try again at Christmas," and then done just that.
Despite my annoyance, I showed up. I had a whole covered dish of sweet potatoes that I wanted to leave with my father since they were so full of brown sugar (the way he likes them) that there was no way I could eat them myself without sending my diabetes into a tailspin. I wanted to stick them in my dad's fridge for him to either eat with the left over turkey or put on his compost pile to help him grow next spring's vegetables. If I had a compost pile in my own backyard, I may have gone home to dispose of them there.
The meal was inconsequential. I wouldn't have been able to eat anything at it, anyway. I'd been sick (whatever Jeff brought home, he'd shared), and my blood sugar levels were about 4 times what they should be. A normal blood sugar level in a normal person is between 90 and 120 mg/dL. Mine was 425 mg/dL when I left the house. At anything over 225, my brain chemistry is off kilter and I am unpleasant; I don't even like myself at these times. The only time I yell at my 4-year-old son is when my blood sugar level gets too high. Just before Ron walked outside, I'd re-tested and saw that I was at 362; it was coming down, but was still nowhere near normal. As a result, I was feeling emotional about things that I would usually have shrugged off. I'm used to my family, and I generally know not to take any of this stuff personally.
Ron approached me and asked what was wrong. I swore at him while he was still several feet away from him. He got within inches and swore back at me and by several more decibels than I had used. After a few minutes of back and forth my 13-year-old niece stuck her head out the door to see what all the commotion was about.
"Keep it down," I said evenly, "You're upsetting Carolyn." I decided to go for a drive to clear my head.
My father's house is just a few miles from Old Towne Spring, which bills itself as "A Unique Shopping Village." When I was a little kid the old part of Spring, Texas was a run-down area where the poor and destitute lived in houses that had once been nice but were falling apart. During the 1980's a group of local business people decided to buy up the old houses and turn them into shops that sell the sort of artsy, crafty stuff you would expect to find in a place that calls itself a Unique Shopping Village. I headed there to do something I haven't done in at least 15 years: spend the biggest shopping day of the year in the United States actually shopping.
My father called me on my cell phone shortly after I hit Towne, and I told him where I was and what I was up to. "I'm not talking to Ron anymore," I told him. "Let me know when the little twerp leaves, and I'll come back."
"I don't know what he said to you, but he said you weren't very nice to him, either."
"I probably wasn't, but if the way he handles a crying woman is to get in her face and shout obscenities at her, no wonder he's still a bachelor and no wonder he's going to die one. He's an idiot."
"You're probably right," my father said. "How long do you think you'll be gone?"
"Until I'm stable again and fit to be around people. I don't know. I don't feel good, Dad. I'll shop until I feel better."
We said goodbye and I put my phone back in my purse, where I didn't hear it ring the next 5 times when my father and oldest brother tried to call me. I'm bad about listing for my cell phone. When I hear a phone ringing, I always assume it's someone else's. After another couple of hours, I stepped out of a toy store and tested my blood sugar again. It was 150. I was normal. I felt normal. I was also enjoying my day. As I contemplated whether I wanted to return to my father's house and simply not talk to my brother or stay where I was, my phone rang again. When I answered it I heard my oldest brother say "Hi," both in the ear that I had the phone to and the ear that was facing the street. We hung up our phones and smiled at each other.
"Dad's in the car; we've been looking for you. He's worried."
I sighed. "Why? I told him where I was. I'm fine."
"Come back to the house. Ron's gone."
They gave me a ride to my car, and I went home the back way so I wouldn't have to follow them back to house and make it look like they had fetched me like a petulant child, which is exactly what they had done.
"Did you think I gave y'all the slip?" I asked my brother.
"Dad did. I knew you didn't." I only see my oldest brother maybe once a year, but he knows me better than my father does.
"You made your Dad and brother come looking for you?" Jeff asked with incredulous disgust when I told him the story.
"I didn't make them do anything. They knew where I was, and they came and got me. It was their decision."
"Why don't you answer your cell phone?" he asked. Half the time, I don't hear him calling me, either. He hates this.
"I do when I hear it; I just forget to listen for it. It depends what I'm doing."
"You amaze me," he said, shaking his head. I don't think he meant it as a compliment. "I will never understand your relationship with your family."
"That makes two of us," I told him.
Not understanding and misunderstanding are part of my family dynamic. The good news is that I only have to put up with this dynamic twice a year. We survived Thanksgiving; all I have to do is get through Christmas. I've decided that I can waive hello and goodbye to my youngest brother without violating my vow of not speaking to him. Nodding yes and shaking my head no are also allowed. As long as I don't open my mouth and say something I really mean to the little twerp, I'm sure we can endure future holiday gatherings without so much drama.
