LifePundit

Me Mores

A lot of people, including my mother-in-law, have been inspired to write their memoirs. This is a good thing for family history. For instance, if you wanted to see where dysfunctional behavior entered the family tree, a relative's memoir might be a good place to start.

And grudgingly, in my mother-in-law's defense, her memoir is about growing up in war-time England and it is an interesting story that should be preserved though the memoir doesn't need to be spoken about weekly.

Other relatives have interesting stories to tell and I wish that they would tell them. There's so much that doesn't get told in a family, and while these stories wouldn't necessarily be interesting to an outsider, they are treasures to family members.

For example, it wasn't until a couple of Thanksgivings ago that I heard the story of Saintly Brother's daring scuba diving adventures and how he and his friends were almost swept to sea. His own children had never heard the story and we all sat fascinated as he told us how he and his friends had started off their "scuba" adventures by trying to swim underwater and breathe through a hollow reed like they do in the movies (can't be done) and progressed to an elaborate home-made diving rig that used a paint compressor and some hoses to supply air to a modified diving mask. They mainly saw murky water, but they also were nearly swept to sea. None of the parents ever knew. He was a smart kid with a good imagination and access to equipment of all sorts. I wish he'd write a memoir. It would be a good one.

While many of us have interesting life stories, most of us do not. Yet the trend to write one's memoir gets stronger. A friend who just returned from a writer's workshop said that there is a term for this "writing-one's-memoir-even-though-one-hasn't-done-anything-interesting": these are not called memoirs, but "Me Mores."

Just doing my job to keep you informed.

My Job is to Make You Feel Good About Christmas

So far, Christmas is upside down. No matter what you haven't done for Christmas, you're ahead of me. I've bought three gifts. One for the piano teacher, and two joke gifts for friends I met for dinner.

The only signs of Christmas at our house are a festive vinyl tablecloth (the real ones are in the attic), a Wal-Mart "seasonal" bouquet and the Christmas cards we've received from the friends who haven't given up on us.

Our tree isn't up. (And will be right-side-up.) No wreath on the door. There's just a warm spot under the bed where I've been hiding, curled up in a fetal position. That's it.

Paul is STILL working every day and night on his office. They moved this week. Sort of. The office still isn't finished, Paul doesn't own a desk (he was using his former landlord's desk), and the cube assemblers are still assembling. Cube assembly is the only job Paul has discovered he can't do himself.

You say Christmas is one week away? Well, at least it's not tomorrow.

We'll get the tree up this weekend (except that Paul and I both have bad colds, Lily's just now off crutches from a horse fall -- nothing broken -- and he's so worn out I hate to ask him to help do anything). We'll go Christmas shopping or maybe send gift cards from Amazon to out-of-state relatives. It's just one of those years.

I did buy Christmas cards in a moment of misplaced optimism. Get this: Did you know that Wal-Mart has a section for Christian Christmas cards? That did make shopping handy-dandy, but I found this odd. Do they have a section for Jewish Hanukkah cards?

And I'm looking forward to cooking Christmas dinner because it's going to be different. I'm using the Silver Palate's recipe for lobster bisque, Paul is murdering the lobsters, and we'll have good bread, a salad and tiramisu (Lily's request and she'll probably make it) for dessert. That feels lavish and simple all at the same time. I'm just sorry that there won't be leftovers to live on for days afterwards. Oh well.

My wicked MiL is coming, but we've set boundaries on for how long. (Right. Boundary trampling is a sport for her.) And then I'm going to visit my mother, who, with any luck, will know who I am. Or, even more importantly, will know who she is.

I won't let Paul put the icicle lights up anymore. They do look pretty on our porch but, no lie, one year I couldn't get them down until July. Never again.

So all you smug Internets who've been ready for Christmas since the day after Thanksgiving, good for you. My wish for Christmas is that we'll get the decorations down before July.

Not Everybody is as Nice as My Mother

When I say that not everybody is as nice as my mother, what I'm really saying is that my mother-in-law continued to be a trial throughout the Thanksgiving weekend.

Which doesn't mean that my mother isn't the nicest mother out there, which she is. My mother was accepting, welcoming and non-judgmental. She didn't whine, complain, or accuse Thanksgiving guests of stealing the cranberry sauce.

Yes, when I arrived home from my in-laws' on Thanksgiving night, the phone started ringing. It was my dear mother-in-law, accusing me of stealing the cranberry sauce. Little did she know how close I had been to throwing it at her, but no, I did not steal the cranberry sauce.

"So if you don't have it, who does?" she demanded.

"I don't know."

"No one else could have taken it. Are you sure you don't have the cranberry sauce?"

"I didn't take it," I said. I wondered if I should call a lawyer.

"Well, where can it be? It's not here. Are you sure you don't have it?" she said.

I explained to her in a kinder voice than she deserved that the only things I had brought from her house were the leftovers of the things I had taken there, and that in fact, I had left her a pie.

Still, where was the $&@*#$&@*$&! cranberry sauce?

As it turns out, my father-in-law had GIVEN it to my husband, who had stayed later than I had and was coming home in a different car. My father-in-law is not allowed to make such weighty decisions on his own, such as what to do with the leftovers that they usually discard, so my mother-in-law demanded that my husband bring the cranberry sauce back as she wanted it.

The next morning when we met them and the other relatives for a day at the zoo, the first words out of my MiL's mouth were, "Where is the cranberry sauce?"

Since it was going to be in the mid-60s and we were going to be gone all day, my husband said he didn't think it was a good idea for the cranberry sauce to be in the car in the heat. Just think. What if he had brought it, the cranberries had turned, and my MiL got sick? Oh, the tempation!

When we were at the zoo and my MiL was sitting alone in the back while the rest of us were watching the penguins being fed, my husband thought he would be nice and go keep her company. He found a seat by her and the only thing she said to him was, "I can't believe you took my cranberry sauce."

That night at dinner, after the cranberry sauce had been returned, she made a toast to the &*(@#&$*)@(# cranberry sauce.

There is much, much more on other unpleasant subjects and I had to leave Thanksgiving dinner to take a walk to get away. Everyone else is nice. Just not her and she spreads her venom and misery like a flood.

She came to our house on Saturday and said to me, "I don't think other women would put up with Paul." I think this was her best attempt at a compliment.

Not everyone is as nice as my mother. And no, I didn't take the cranberry sauce, but I very well may throw it next time.

Turkey Holds Her Ground

I have so much to be thankful for that it seems ungracious to make such a stink about hosting Thanksgiving. Or rather, about NOT hosting Thanksgiving.

For those who have been following the saga with my MiL, I've held my ground. Paul worked until 11:30 Monday night and will be working late again tonight. I still have plumbing fixtures in my den though the toilet is gone. I hauled some lumber outside because  I couldn't stand tripping over it anymore, and besides, I couldn't vacuum and heaven knows I need to vacuum at least twice a year or I'll go crazy.

So, my MiL, bless her heart, sent out an e-mail to everyone that since I couldn't host Thanksgiving she will have it at her SMALL house and even though we will all be CRAMPED and she doesn't know what the children will do in her SMALL house or where she will put everyone and that she doesn't have room for the food in her SMALL refrigerator, we would just make do.

She wrote that she was overwhelmed by it all and really needed my help (this was on an e-mail sent to multiple people in multiple states). I had already told her that I would bring some of the dishes and all of the desserts. So I sent her an e-mail repeating myself and she responded to all people in all states that she felt like the cavalry had arrived.

Then she (in an e-mail to all) asked to borrow my turkey platter since all of her platters are too SMALL. She wanted me to send it to Paul's job site and they would pick up from there. I told her I didn't want to do that because the platter has sentimental and monetary value. So she wrote back to all of us in all states that she didn't want to use that platter because her sink is too SMALL to wash it. I told her that my sink is too small to wash it, too, and that I have to wash each end separately. I think her sink is bigger than mine, but hey! Who's measuring?

Paul offered to bring a fried turkey. My MiL said that she would have to make do with a breast because her refrigerator is too SMALL so he's not to bring it.

She lives in a two-bedroom, two-bath freestanding house in a luxury retirement community. She has a full-sized kitchen only slightly smaller than mine. She has closets galore, some of them EMPTY. My refrigerator is normal sized, not giant. This is all hooey.

Back to the platter. So she rejects my turkey platter and wants me to bring another, smaller platter. I'm not a store or a platter collector. I've got one turkey platter. So I suggest to her that perhaps she should carve the turkey and put it on her two smaller platters. Why does everything have to be so complicated?

Then she writes (to all) for me to be sure to keep all my dishes and desserts small and simple because her refrigerator and house is so SMALL.

And she also writes (to all) that she has no idea how to entertain all these people she's invited for the weekend so she's leaving what we do on Friday completely up to me. Oh no she's not!

I wrote back (to all) that there is nothing worse than having somebody plan your life and your time for you, and I would not be doing that to her guests. I gave her a list of things they could do and told her to let them choose how they wanted to spend their day. I may even be home writing which is what I planned to be doing back before my MiL invited everyone for Thanksgiving. Not that I'm not glad to see them but don't I get to say how I spend my holiday? Apparently not. I probably won't be home writing because that would be rude, plus I'm thinking my house is too SMALL for me to actually be able to write in or do anything so I'd better go sit in the car and possibly drive it somewhere far away.

In the meantime, Saintly Brother has invited me over. I'm thinking of sending the food to MiL's since it's too SMALL for me to fit in there and go to Saintly Brother's. Don't know where or if I'll eat (I've lost my appetite for all this) but I will be visiting at both places. Saintly Brother has some wonderful relatives coming whom I never see so I'm looking forward to stopping by there. I haven't spent a holiday with any of my side of the family in several years.

I do look forward to seeing Paul's brothers and his family. There's just such a high cost.

Am I being SMALL minded?

And I've got so much to be grateful for. I hate that it's so difficult to keep that focus in the middle of these SMALL concerns.

Happy Thanksgiving to you!

How to Get in Trouble While Minding Your Own Business

I just wrote a nice post about how some men go "dear hunting" when they say they're out "deer hunting," (in other words, they are out cheating on their wives instead of hunting) but I accidentally deleted the thing and don't feel like writing it again. If you want to read the news story, it's here. I especially liked the part where one man had a whole pack of coon dogs but didn't go hunting. On the way home from being up to no good he would pull over to the side of the road and roll in the mud so he'd look like he'd been hunting.

As for me, I'm here minding my own business and I continue to get fall-out from that. As I've already whined, my mother-in-law invited a bunch of relatives down from up North for Thanksgiving. We didn't know these folks were coming and had plans to have a low-key Thanksgiving at home while I worked on my novel and Paul finished (I hope) his renovations for his new office. We were even going out for dinner that day -- not cooking for the three of us. Our lives are already out of balance. Paul sometimes gets home after I'm already asleep.

But my mother-in-law isn't interested in what's going on with us; she's interested in getting me to put on a show, a Martha Stewart Thanksgiving at our house for her to brag about to her friends. Apparently, in her social set (middle school) at the retirement community, there's a big competition going on about what your children and DILs do for you. I don't know who else is keeping score, but she is. 

In fact, she has completely recreated herself. She's an English lady (she's lived in this country over fifty years and never been an English lady before) who has tea in the afternoons. She's never had tea in her American life until she moved to this community. And she's got magazines all about The Manors of England all over her coffee table. Nobody has ever seen her subscribe to these before or have any interest in doing things the English way. In fact, when I met her she was all about Danish Modern. Maybe one day when I'm feeling mean I'll do a whole post about how one can recreate oneself to a higher social status in the retirement community. It's just the same as middle school. Honest. Only with afternoon tea and a few props.

Back to Thanksgiving. I told her that maybe we could do that, but only if Paul's office is finished so that the building supplies that are stored in our den and living room will be out of the house. I didn't say no. I said I didn't know. And she blasted me and said to forget it.

Now it's clear that my hesitation has been conveyed to others and we've offended the relatives from up North, who thought that we would be glad to see them (we always are) and, to use their words, "would jump at the chance to host Thanksgiving."

Yes, but not this year, this month, this time.

When I tried to explain that I have two editors interested in my book and I need to work on that instead of moving building supplies (to where I don't know) and getting ready for company (more company than our dining room will hold, by the way), it was clear that no one understood why I couldn't do that later. That's what happens when you're a writer. People figure that you can always do it later. What they don't understand is that later was a long, long time ago. I need to do this now.

I checked again with Paul to be sure that he, too, wasn't mad at me. He said absolutely not, that "time kills a deal." What if the editors who are interested move on to other publishers, change jobs, leave the industry? Now is the time. Now is my time. And even so, it will be a few months before my manuscript is ready to send.

But the relatives are saying, what's a few days? A week?

It's the possibility of losing my story. My momentum. My confidence. I am one day away from writer's block. I've had writer's block last for years. But now, I'm writing. And that's what I'm called to do and that's what I'm going to do.

And it's not that I'm being inhospitable. I've offered as many relatives as would like to stay in our guest room and other nooks and crannies. I do welcome them and would love to see them. I'd try to get in my writing hours before they're awake. I just haven't agreed to cook a feast and empty the house of all the things that are supposed to go into the building. (And I assume people will know better than to use the toilet and sinks piled up in the middle of the den.)

I also understand that this is a tough time for some of the visitors, who are connected to Wall Street financial companies and other businesses under enormous stress. They are now talking about canceling their visit down here because of the "atmosphere" around Thanksgiving.

They are hurt and offended. I'm afraid this has damaged our relationships! They have always been kind and generous with us and we are overdue in reciprocating. That's one thing that really hurts me about this, but I'm not the one who did the inviting and started the manipulations. We can't really reciprocate when we are snowed under.

If you're going to invite people down and invite them to somebody's house for Thanksgiving, shouldn't you at least talk to the "designated" host and hostess first?

I don't understand how having healthy boundaries and minding my own business could create such a ruckus.

The Turkey Grows a Backbone

After I wrote my last post, I realized once again that this was a case of my strength becoming my weakness -- I am reasonably hospitable and will sacrifice myself for the expectations of others (in this case, my dear sister-in-law and brother-in-law and their family, whom I would love to show a Martha Stewart Thanksgiving), but that this was just plain silly. Even if my mother-in-law has arranged it all, I just can't do it with the building project going on AND my determination to get my novel in shape.

So I wrote my mother-in-law (she can't hear -- she has yelled herself deaf -- so the phone is no good) and explained to her the situation, including how our house has stored building materials everywhere. It is tempting but not uplifting to cut-and-paste her response here, but that would be wrong.

However, I can't help divulging this one little detail from her response: "Since you haven't had us over to your house since February, how was I to know that you have building supplies stored in your house and therefore can't have everyone over for Thanksgiving?"

Every politely cast sentence she wrote had a dig. I have resisted the temptation to reply with, "Well, did you ever think there might be a reason you haven't been invited over? Like the fact that you criticize everything you see?" But that would be a waste of electrons, or whatever makes up e-mail.

And there was another dig about my novel.

As St. Paul said, inasmuch as it is possible, be at peace with all men.

What's possible is the question. But peace doesn't come from allowing those who would trample your boundaries to trample them.

Am I Being a Turkey About Thanksgiving?

I have a lot to be thankful for. I'm thankful that I'm staying home for Thanksgiving so I can work on my NaNoWriMo novel. (Did I tell you that I have two publishers who have requested that I send my novel to them, based on the ten pages they saw? My heart's greatest desire is to get it finished and I've set aside November for that. No freelance work. Just my heart's work.)

Since I'm cooking Christmas dinner and entertaining my in-laws at Christmas, I figured on a low-key Thanksgiving with just us (that would be Paul, Lily and me -- no Thanksgiving spectacle). But guess what! My in-laws have invited all their relatives down to S.C. for Thanksgiving. I am being guilted into cooking for and entertaining them all. Our dining room won't even hold them all.

Here's how it started: First I get an e-mail from my MIL telling me that relatives are coming and inviting us to have dinner with them on the Friday night after Thanksgiving at their retirement community dining room. Translation: They're coming, we're having dinner for them Friday night, so now you need to invite us all for Thanksgiving dinner at your house.

But I don't.

So last night we get a call from in-laws that they're all coming and my dear sister-in-law (she really is dear -- don't get me wrong) has offered to cook the turkey at their house since, well, you know, nobody has invited them, but they aren't really set up for Thanksgiving dinner and wanted to know what our plans are.

So, the good daughter-in-law is driving 800 miles and then cooking a turkey. What is the bad daughter-in-law (that would be me, at least for this week) doing?

Nuttin'. Trying to live my own life on my own schedule. For once.

Except I can't do nothing. Lily and Paul said that they would cook Thanksgiving dinner and I could just help out a little (like do all the shopping, planning, supervision and clean up) so I could work on my novel.

Don't forget, I have building supplies in my house. We cannot walk. We have three people living here and that's about all that fits right now. There is a toilet in the den, along with lumber, other plumbing fixtures and who knows what else. And tile in the living room. Paul says he will get it all out by Thanksgiving. He's already killing himself working on the building all the time. He's not going to get these construction supplies out and installed by Thanksgiving, though it's possible he could put them in the yard. Or maybe set the toilet up on the front porch. Maybe I'll plant pansies in it for a festive touch.

For my dear sister-in-law (who really is dear), I'm going to have to step in, capitulate to my mother-in-law's manipulations to have everybody down for Thanksgiving but push me into doing the entertaining, and do the &*#$@&()@* dinner.

For my part, I'll see if I can work this unpleasant person into my novel. Except I don't want her in my novel because I'm not writing a murder mystery.

I really do cherish some of these family members and would love to see them. I just wish I had been consulted on when would be a good time to invite them to my house for a feast. And because of the manipulations and pressure, I'll be an angry hostess instead of a gracious one.

I may think of something yet. Am I being a turkey?

Now I'm Just Being Mean

My mother-in-law, bless her heart, has lost her hearing. I think it's from a lifetime of exposure to extremely loud, aggressive noises -- that would be her own voice. Yes, she has yelled herself deaf.

Anyway, I try to be sympathetic, and I know it must be difficult to constantly ask people to repeat what they said, but sometimes you really shouldn't make up a response based on what you expect but didn't hear.

For example, last night we had a telephone conversation:

MIL: "Anne? How are you?"

Anne: "I'm sick."

MIL: "That's wonderful!"

"You're the Only Person I Can Ask"

This is the best advice you'll ever get.

If someone looks you in the eye and says, "I've got something I need to ask you to do for me, and you're the only person I can ask," RUN!

Here is the translation of this request:

1. You're so special that you're the only one I can ask to do this;
2. In this case "special "means "stupid," "easy to manipulate," "no backbone" and "no healthy boundaries whatsoever."

You have just been given the biggest red-flag warning possible in a conversation. It is up to you to heed it. Immediately interrupt the person before the insane request can be made. Smile sweetly and say, "Well, if I'm the only person you can ask, you need to know that you can't ask me either."

Do not even let the request be aired. If you cannot stop this on-coming freight train, remember this most important word: NO.

Say it once. Change the subject. They'll find another victim. I promise. They had "only people they could ask" before you came along, and they'll find "only people they can ask" after you don't work out for them.

No. No. And Hell No.

Advice to Mothers-in-Law

Ah me. I've tried to resist. If you're a mother-in-law, here's some good advice:

1. Don't leave nasty voicemails, especially ones screaming, "I know you're there! Pick up the phone. Oh for G-d's sake, pick up the phone! etc." Maybe we're not here. Ever thought of that?
   And when we do get back home, guess what -- your granddaughter has taped that message you just bellowed into our phone and she's got it where that's what my cell phone plays, instead of a ring tone, whenever you call me. Puts me just in the right mood to talk to you.
2. If you give us something you no longer want, assume we'll believe it's ours. We are not a storage facility for things you don't need right now. When you call two years later and want X item back, don't get mad if we gave it away, broke it, lost it or burned it. As I said, when you gave it to us, that made us think it was ours.
3. If you publish your memoirs and put in photos and stories about your friends and cousins, including their first marriages and second marriages, but leave out the photos of your sons' weddings and never mention or show any of your daughters-in-law, there's a chance that at least one of us will feel slighted. If you do this and don't get rave reviews from your family about how great the book is, especially the parts about your old friends' and relatives' second weddings, don't go around complaining that "nobody in the family will read my book, but all my friends love it." Maybe people in your family HAVE read your book. If they're not gushing with delight, there just might be a reason.
4. If you're going to spend your whole time with us complaining about how we don't spend time with you (and who would?), don't be surprised if we choose not to spend time with you.
5. "You've gotten fat and have zits!" is not the correct phrase for greeting a grandson who begged to stay up late to see you. He won't do that again.
6. If you've done something terrible to a family member, at least say you're sorry before you tell them that they're not very good Christians for taking offense.
7. I could go on. I don't want to think about it right now.