The Seasons Cometh
November 8, 2011 7 Comments
So I decided to get back in the swing of writing these blog posts. I’m not sure why, to be quite honest. I must like the abuse. Maybe it has something to do with the time of the year. My sister will account for this: Growing up, the holiday seasons always brought on a high level of…uh… family anxiety? I’ll just leave it at that for now.
I don’t want you to think that I had some dysfunctional up-bringing. I’m can’t sit here and wine about wire coat hangers and cigarette burns. Heck, by today’s standards, my life was freakin’ great. We weren’t a well-to-do family. We didn’t have money coming out of our cracks, but we rarely went wanting for anything. Before my sister and I reached the age of 10, my Mom was left with the arduous task of raising us on her own. I’m half surprised she didn’t drop us off at a K-Mart somewhere and drive like Hell.
Anyway, I’m rambling. Back to my point.
The time period from Thanksgiving through New Years Eve…yikes. It was like sitting on a rumbling volcano and waiting for it to erupt. Don’t get me wrong. We were (and are today) very festive. To borrow a phrase from Clark Griswold, we were whistling Frosty The Snowman out our assholes.
But there was always this unspoken question on all our minds. My sister and I could literally utter it between us telepathically. One deftly-raised eyebrow would speak volumes.
“When was the shit going to hit the fan?”
I’m sure that if my mother is reading this (and she probably will), she will assume that I’m pointing my finger at her. This couldn’t be further from the truth, my friends. My mom’s fault in all this is that she is a fixer. She loves to not get involved. I’m sure that makes no sense but let me lay it out for ya.
Mom: Michael, make sure you get the kids in their nice dresses for Christmas Eve
Me: I was going to put them in skirts and sweaters
Mom: What about the dresses I bought them last year?
Me: The red ones with frosty playing the electric guitar?
Mom: No not those. The shiny ones with the snowflakes…
Me: I like the sweaters better
Mom: No, the shiny ones are nicer.
Me: I’m not sure they fit them anymore but I can check-
Mom: Whatever, I’m not getting involved.
This could be applied to most actions. But the end result: She always got involved.
And it’s these sort of gems that need to be shared with the world… at least I think so. Maybe we just don’t tell my Mom. Deal?
About Mike Witmer
Your Mom is so gonna kick your ass.
I think I like your mom, Wit. lol
Thanks for sharing this.
I have in-laws that enjoy not “getting involved” to that same degree as well.
My mother spent the latter part of our youth raising us on her own (3 boys) and I know what it’s like to dread the holiday’s through her eyes, but every year she pulled out all the stops and made sure we had the best holiday season we could have. We did without a lot, but we never wanted for any necessities and that’s what I’ve tried to pass on to my kids cause none of us ever have the knowledge that we’ll have our jobs/health tomorrow. You have to be thankful for what you have not whine about what you don’t have.
Thank God for moms that didn’t give up when the chips were down.
My mom did and still does the same thing. She really pulls out the stops. But there’s something that just makes her lose her mind (probably her family).
Mom’s want everything to be perfect for everyone and we sacrifice our own sanity to do our best to make sure it happens. Sometimes we go a little too far and it winds up making things worse. But we sure do try like hell.
Noooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!! Mom reads facebook now. You’re a deadman. Also, don’t forget grandma’s xmas sweater torture! Personally, I think we should have shipped Pete off to Vegas until march. Made all our lives easier.
LOL. It’s all in the name of humor.
You and I need to put our heads together for future stories