Holidays

I used to hate Sundays as a child. They were odd days that often began with lovely breakfasts in the dining room. Fresh orange juice, bacon, eggs, toast and sometimes cinnamon rolls. It was the rest of the day that was bad. Everyone else in my world went to church and had big mid day dinners and couldn't come out to play. My parents had no problems with me going to church, but that always turned out disappointing too. It seems all the little prizes for succeeding, or exceeding, are for children whose parents are members of the church. No white Bibles for kids who come alone even if they don't miss a Sunday and pass all the tests. They still fail the big test: do your parents tithe.

Legal holidays were pretty much the same. All the stores were closed. Most people went to parties and my family stayed home -- alone. We did not barbecue or go out to parks and celebrate. My father said human beings had spent centuries getting indoors, why would he go back out? In all fairness he was a teacher who generally held down three extra jobs, so if he wasn't at work, he was in his office at home.

As an adult we had the house for entertaining, but our families seldom came to visit. Our family of the heart would come and that was nice, but on major holidays, they were with their own families. My husband's family was too old to come to us, or really be interested in us coming to them. Three small children were a lot of noise and energy and confusion they could do without. Most of my family didn't like to travel more than thirty miles from home, so if we wanted to be with them we drove the two hours from our house to join them, leaving the big house, the pool table, the pool, and all the things we wanted to share behind us.

The last Christmas I was married was in our dream house. We had just built it and had a huge tree in the two story living room. I had made dolls with matching clothes for my granddaughters and getting ready was everything I had ever dreamed of. Then on Christmas Eve something happened. I went to bed pretending to be ill just to get away from my husband. I fully intended to get up just before the kids arrived, but suddenly I was really sick. I missed that whole night. All I heard was my children celebrating without us while I threw up in my bathroom. (My husband ended up sick in bed too!) The next day the turkey was still frozen, all the restaurants in town were closed and we had French toast for Christmas dinner. Three months later we began the divorce.

Holiday's after the divorce have been pretty good, but there is always a tension there, someone who makes things awkward and sometimes I end up sick again despite telling myself it is all in my head. One year my daughter failed to show up with her children and we had no idea where she was. Other years my daughter-in-law felt the need to create issues, or my granddaughter was three hours late, or something else happened. I never know if it will be a good holiday, a disappointing one, or even a difficult one. I have taken to just going out to a restaurant. It feels safer. Whoever shows up is there and whoever doesn't can't throw a monkey wrench into it.

I'm not sure why this is all so complicated. My sons live far away now, but my daughter lives in town and she is never a sure thing. She and I have nothing in common. Since she turned twenty we have never been able to count on her for anything. She does whatever she wants in any given moment and except for her one favorite daughter, the rest of the world just has to deal with it.

So, this holiday weekend I am feeling like a jaded old woman who is probably doing something wrong.