When I was a little girl, my mother organized caroling and a party on Christmas Eve. We sang our way around the block in Washington D.C. We were met with universal delight. Those were magical times.
My Ex-Stepmother carried on the tradition in the suburbs of D.C. and then New England.
Until I dated a guy from rural Tennessee over the holiday season, I never thought some people might find caroling…odd.
Continue reading The Dogs of Christmas (#242)I always knew my husband and I would have a boy. An ultrasound at 21 weeks proved I was right.
Usually I love being right.
Not this time. Continue reading Weary of Boys (#235)
Parents always say they don’t have a favorite child.
Everyone eventually learns that’s bullshit. I knew it earlier than most. I have four baby siblings, born anywhere from 9-12 years after me. And hell, yeah, I had a favorite.
Pretty Space Cadet Sister spat up on everything as a baby. She was not my favorite. Continue reading Gender & Preference (#231)
I’m convinced that most American parents didn’t realize how much work raising a kid was when they decided to have one.
If they did, we’d have a negative birthrate.
Having a child changes your life irrevocably, in that you will have at least eighteen years with no life. A good parent prioritizes their child’s needs, especially during infancy. They endure a constant state of deprivation: sleep deprivation, cleanliness deprivation, time deprivation, and quiet deprivation.
If you think I know this because my parents were such awesome role models, you must be a new reader. Continue reading The Matter with Kids (#201)
A big family and not quite enough food can mess you up for life. My sisters and I learned to eat fast, hunching protectively over our plates. But no matter how fast we ate, Big Brother would finish first. Then he’d inevitably loom over us, asking, “Are you gonna eat that?”
If our mouths were too full to answer, he’d take that as a no.
Fork duels ensued. Continue reading Chocolate Thievery (#186)
You know those big, dysfunctional but lovable white families you used to see in television and film? They were all about siblings being super shitty to each other. Yet when one member of the family was threatened, the family closed ranks and fended off the attacker.
I grew up in a huge, white, broken, dysfunctional family.
I thought those stories were bullshit. Continue reading When the Cavalry Sucks (#181)
My family collects college degrees. We have some BAs, a lot of BS, an MD, a JD, an MBA, a MSW, an MFA, and a Masters of Education. Big Brother added second MBA when he married. Judgmental Genius Doctor Sister married a second lawyer. I brought the most, though, when I added Andy — a Masters of Engineering AND a Masters in Cyber Security (so, HA, you Russian hackers, give up attacking my website already).
I think the only degree we missed was a PhD. Bummer. Continue reading Stocking Savior (#164)
I took a boyfriend home for Thanksgiving at my Ex-Stepfather’s house. Once. Ethan came from a small, immigrant family and thought my description of tons of food, alcohol, card games, and siblings sounded awesome.
“Mostly we play Hearts,” I warned him. “It’s brutal.”
“Hearts? Cool. I’m good at Hearts.” Continue reading Hearts & Turkeys (#96)
My siblings and I once celebrated Thanksgiving in the traditional fashion. We met at my Ex-Stepfather’s house in the DC suburbs and pigged out. Family members brought appetizers and wine. (A LOT of wine.) Drinking, eating, and cards started around noon. Football games played on the living room TV. The turkey was usually served by 4 PM. Dishes were finished around 7. Our exercise consisted of a slow walk around the neighborhood about 7:30.
Big Brother’s Wife wrecked our tradition of sloth and gluttony. Continue reading Turkey Chase (#94)
In Ang Lee’s The Wedding Banquet, the Chinese bride and groom collapse in their hotel room after an exhausting wedding. There’s a knock on the door. The bride goes to answer it. The groom tries to stop her. Too late! All the young wedding guests pour into the hotel room, carting tables, chairs, booze, and supplies for potentially humiliating sexual games. They set up shop and party. Questionable, regrettable activities ensue.
The moral of the story? Never open the door. Continue reading Don’t Open the Door (#70)
