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| Thanksgiving is only one holiday I have to share my children. |
It’s a trait we learn in the sandbox, and I took to it easily. I will share my home, meals, music, clothes (if you are unfortunate enough to be my size), Scotch (if I think you will appreciate it), and maybe, just maybe, if you are a person of good character and hygiene, my books.
One thing I’m not so gracious about sharing is my children on holidays.
I had to share with their father. That’s the law. But sharing with people just because my daughters are in love with their sons? Not so much.
Both kids were with their respective partners this Thanksgiving, and I didn’t like it. Not one little bit.
You think the G20 undergo high-level negotiations? You should see my family at Thanksgiving and Christmas.
The last thing my younger daughter’s fiancé, the oenologist, said before he whisked her off to Long Island to make whatever kind of wine you can make in some place that isn’t Napa, is that she could fly back for holidays.
His parents, who live in Rhode Island, would alternate with us: this year they got Turkey Day, and we got Christmas; next year we switch.
Which is good, because my older daughter and son-in-law finally evened the holiday score this year, and we get them all day Christmas. Ever since they have been together, holidays have been a sticking point.
When they were first a couple, it was easy (for us): they just split up. However miserable this may have made them, we were down with it. I mean, we missed Chris, of course we did, but missing his wife also would have been too painful.
But he comes from a huge Mexican-American family with 30 first cousins. I think after awhile they started to doubt he really had a girlfriend. And once the two got married, the pressure was really on to make a joint appearance.
Chris’ family has their big gathering on Christmas Eve, so ostensibly they got the couple that night, and our tiny little Anglo family got Christmas day. Which was fine in theory, but in practice, a little sticky.
What threw a spanner in the works were kids. Go figure.
Chris’ brother had small daughters, and he and my daughter wanted to see them open their presents at their grandma’s house. So they would go there and wait for the nieces to arrive. While we were waiting for them to arrive at our gathering place so we could open our presents.
True, we were adults and should have been more patient, but doesn’t Christmas make children of us all? So we would wait impatiently, and threaten to open gifts without them (well, some of us would…)
My poor kid was torn: she would annoy us by making us wait, annoy Chris’ family by leaving early, and at some point there would be tears.
Having my granddaughter Charlotte, of course, upped the ante.
So this year they have arrived at détente. They, also, will alternate: one family will get Christmas Eve and the other Christmas Day. Exclusively. Oh, and by the way, whoever gets Christmas Eve also gets Thanksgiving, because an “eve” is not a complete day, what with people having pesky jobs and such.
So that’s the plan, and this is the year we get the younger sister and the winemaker for Christmas too. Except they are finding out that flying from the East Coast to LAX or Burbank is not as cheap as from the Bay Area, so it looks like we may just see my daughter.
And even this may prove unworkable once they tie the knot and start having kids.
I’m finally realizing why my mother’s only bit of marital advice was to “Marry an orphan.”
