All I Want for Christmas is Some Xanax

So, I think I mentioned that we’re hosting Christmas this year.  Or maybe I didn’t.  Well, guess what?  We’re hosting Christmas.  You’re on notice.

The funny thing about this is that with four sets of parents and other extended family and whatnot, we won’t really have our entire family together, so it’s really more like half the family coming over, and Ed and I will make a couple of rounds to those who can’t make it.  So instead of last year’s Four Christmases-esque shenanigans, we’re down to two.  I’d much rather have people over to our house than run all over the place, so this is a huge win to me.  Plus we get to bust out the wedding china and other shmancy stuff and I can wear an apron and we can both freebase wine all day long since we don’t have to drive.  Good times.

Except.  Well.  It seems we are still expected to show up at my mom’s Christmas Eve and Christmas morning.  And Ed’s mom’s on the 23rd.  Apparently, “Hey guys!  We’re hosting Christmas this year!  Come on over!” roughly translates to “Hey guys!  We’ll be over whenever you want!  In between cooking and cleaning our own home.  We got this!”

I think it’s a little difficult for our moms some members of the family to accept us as being The Ones Who Are Hosting a Major Holiday for the Family.  Although we both feel welcomed by our respective in-laws, neither one of our families roll well with change and this is a big change on the heels of the wedding, which in itself was a big event.  This is sort of shocking to me with my own mom since she has never been big into Christmas.  Not that she’s ever been Scrooge-like, but she’s a pretty unconventional broad who is happy to try new things.  Our big tradition is drinking kaluha and cream.  Other than that?  Things are up for negotiation.  Ed’s family, on the other hand, is way more Hallmark about the holidays so I guess I shouldn’t have been shocked that his mom wants us all over at her place, despite the fact that it’s the least convenient, geographically speaking, and we won’t actually get to spend much time there.

Weirdly enough, my dad and Judy are being super cool about us not being there.  Hooray for the second/real family and replacement kid!  Thanks, Bubba! 

The irony of all this is that in my frustrated state of “Jesus, why can’t they just let us have this and let go and be cool already?” I realized that I wasn’t exactly being understanding that this new dynamic is a big deal for our parents too and maybe I could try to compromise a bit.  I know this intellectually.  But it still feels like we’re doing all the work of running around AND hosting.  Could someone tell me how this is fair?  Or should I just abandon the idea of “fairness” when it comes to interacting with our families?

What holiday compromises do you make to keep peace/ensure you get your inheritance?  When do you take a stand?


This and That, Here and There

Some randomness for you.

  • I tried a NetiPot for the first time thanks to my fucked up sinuses.  It was…interesting.  It really did seem to help, but it was the oddest sensation.  I kept chanting to myself that I needed to breathe through my mouth which, of course, made me snort a little and inhale a teensy bit of liquid but I didn’t die or hit my head on anything.  Success!
  • I am fully, truly obsessed with the movie It’s Complicated.  Being sick last week allowed me a lot of time to sit on the couch and watch movies, and since HBO had it on maximum rotation, I was averaging three viewings a day.  Alec Baldwin is genius, Meryl Streep is awesome when she’s just being a normal woman, and Steve Martin is adorable.  Also, I love that the object of everyone’s desire is a 50-something woman who is divorced but not pathetic.  She has a rockin’ business, sweet house, and happy relationships. 
  • The holiday madness is in full swing.  Parties galore (we hosted one Saturday), shopping, wrapping, cleaning, decorating…  It’s fun, but it doesn’t feel like we really take much time to be still and enjoy.  Every year I tell myself we need to slow down.  Simplify.  Maybe say “no” now and then and eliminate some things from the calendar.  And yet we don’t do it.  But I think we’re continuing our “no cards” streak (woohoo for consistency?) so there’s that. 
  • I attended Bubba’s last Christmas show of his preschool career, where he waved at us and was generally amazing and adorable.  It was so crazy to see the two year-olds and the progression up to his class.  He looked so big and grown up and zen compared to the freaked out wee ones.  Hard to believe that was him two years ago.
  • Getting so much time with Bubba recently has made me miss him even more when I’m away from him.  He’s out of that asshole toddler phase yet still not too cool to hold my hand or cuddle on the couch.  He is fully mesmerized by the magic of the season.  He loves to help decorate, sing songs (my Cartman-esque version of “O Holy Night” is one of his favorites), and is generally a fun person to have around the house.  It feels like torture saying goodbye, even when I know I’m going to see him soon. 
  • We are attending an Ugly Sweater Party on Saturday and still need to secure outfits.  The stores are letting me down big time.  It might be time to fire up the glue gun and attach random ornaments and stuff to clothing and own The Fugly. 
  • So, Dave did this:
No animals were humiliated in the creation of this ridiculous photo.

Yes, that would be our little Molly Photoshopped within an inch of her life all in the name of holiday cheer.  Or mental illness.  It’s a thin line for some.

The Black Plague Started at a Preschool. True Story.*

My amazing streak of excellent health has some to a screeching, mucusy halt.  I attribute this to spending roughly 60 seconds inside Bubba’s classroom when I picked him up on Friday.  A bunch of kids swarmed me asking me questions and breathing in my direction and now I have a sore throat.  Children are gross.  There.  I said it. 

Funny aside: when I went to collect the Bubs a bunch of kids asked me if I am his mom.  “Nope, I’m his sister,” I replied.  Apparently that sounded shady, because they all verified this information with him. 

“Is that your mom?” 

“No, it’s my sister,” he’d answer, shocked that anyone would mistake me for his mom.  Like, doesn’t your sister have crow’s feet and a few stray gray hairs?

Anyway, the weekend was pretty great.  We were in the Bay Area briefly for Ed’s company holiday party.  It was way less dramatic than last year, and we were all dolled up and cute and shitfaced within an hour due to drinking a gallon of wine each and eating maybe two stuffed mushrooms.  Whoops.  I also don’t think we took a single picture together, which is stupid.  Or a result of all the wine. 

We woke up feeling kind of crappy, and then this happened:

Hi, we're all just casually hanging around the World Series trophy. What up?

My dad initially thought only he could have his photo taken, but was informed that he could bring guests.  He wisely chose the people who will make decisions about pulling plugs and nursing home placement.

To say that Dad was intense about this was a bit of an understatement.  Bubba was sort of impatient about having to wait in line and wanted to go play on the field, but my father was insistent that we be together for the photo and have FUN and create memories, goddamnit, even if it kills us all or someone ends up crying. 

"Ed, get a picture of me pretending to take the call to send Vaughn out to the mound."

Sometimes I confuse real life and movies.  It’s concerning.

The fresh air and excitement helped my hangover. My screeching and running around seemed to make Ed's worse


I told him we could play Skeeball if he stood still for a photo. Bribery: it works. Judge all you want.


So, how was your weekend?

*Lie.  But it would make sense if it did, right?