Hallmark Made Holidays Hell, JK

Countdown to the holidays!  Thanksgiving is just around the corner! You can almost smell it in the air--turkey? No, holiday tension.

Why is it that holidays magnify every unmet need, secret yearning and nostalgic ache? There are moments I want to just skip them. But then, the Eternal Optimist in me takes the reins and says, "No--this year it will be great!" The Occasional Realist in me then sits down and mutters under her breath, "Yeah, right."

Why?

Because, thanks to Hallmark movies,  holiday hype and TV commercials, we have all been jacked up to imagine that This Year we'll sit around the table and our touchy family members will temporarily behave in a gracious, attentive, affectionate way, while we exhibit a Xanax calmness and grace. I tell myself that This Year I'll be liberated from burdensome expectations imposed on me by others or myself! This year I won't become a maniac because family members are glued to their phones. Fantasy Holidays, right? Do you, like me, buy a ticket each year to ride the Thisyearwillbebetter Train? Check this bad boy out. Join me, in my Fantasy Family Holiday delusion...

This year, there won't be any sniping about dark meat, white meat, giblets in the gravy or the cruelty of killing turkeys. There won't be awkward silences or even more awkward conversation attempts. There won't be eye rolls, heavy sighs or dramatic gestures worthy of an Academy award. There won't be passive-aggressive comments, heated conversations or stare downs. We won't get baited into talks about politics, morals, Millennials or what is "lame" about our family. Those topics will have zero gravitational pull this year! It will be a magical time!

Why? Either because we 1. Cancel the holiday or 2. We rent a different family to attend it. Oh wait--I forgot that this is my delusion and I can fiat happiness in my shining Fantasy Family Holiday!

Just in case my fiat powers fail, there is always Option 3: I get that nasty Can't-deal-with-the-fam Flu two days early and stay in bed on Thanksgiving and Christmas, behind a locked door with a  fortressed heart. However, for me that could never fly because the Eternal Optimist in me would wash her face, unlock the door and race back to the gathering in time to notice my 6 hour absence and dire illness had gone unnoticed.  

Then there is Option 4.Try a Destination Holiday. I've had mixed luck with that. Despite great hopes, I sobbed at a $500 Colonial Thanksgiving meal, complete with my 2 daughters in Colonial Girl garb. I'd been stabbed in the heart by a zinger from a family member. It split my heart into pieces, right over the peanut soup. On the other hand, I once had a pleasant chili dinner at Stuckies on Thanksgiving. I've had family members travel to my house to fill 22 chairs at 3 tables. And I recall 14 years of holidays when it didn't matter where we were--aching with my husband, wishing for one--just one--chair to be added to our lonely, infertile couple's table. 

How many people does it take to make a good holiday? I wouldn't know. I would say 6. That was the number for me, for about 16 years. Now, it is the number my family used to be. When my family used to be.

Thanks to God and Jesus and the nurse who told us days 12, 13 and 14 are crucial, we were able to have four kids. Currently, four kids with the option to Come Home for the holidays, or not. We were able to become a family. I am less confident these days about remaining one. I know that is not my better judgment because the feels take over my brain in the evening that Daylight Savings dies. It won't fall apart. And even if it does, it will eventually fall back together...I repeat to myself in the mirror.

This year we tried to bribe our "emerging adult" kids with a beautiful condo at a beautiful beach. We had a 100% Come to Thanksgiving Acceptance Rate until that condo got wiped out by the hurricane after Florence. (Who can keep up with them? Mother Nature is more pissed with her children than I am. The West Coast is on fire and the East Coast is flooded. Geez.) Anyhoo, once we could no longer entice the kids with the beach condo, the Acceptance Rate dropped. We got our first cancellation from a daughter, thanks to He Who Won't Be Named. That was going to fall through anyway. But, at least the Thisyearitwillbetter Train carried my husband and I and her siblings for a few wistful miles before HWWBN mandated what she'd be doing for his holidays. No comment. Then, the second cancellation came. It was easier to swallow. The chance to make extra money is an understandable priority that trumps family time. I get it. Plus, we had lost the beach enticement, so duh. See ya.

Unfortunately, it isn't just my angst about a Thisyearitwillbebetter  

Thanksgiving that gets me in my feels. It is the fact that with an Empty Nest, it feels like I'm in the Peace Accords at Camp David negotiating for my life. Not that my life is about holiday entertainment. Rather, my heart is still deep hooked into my kids and I can't afford any mishaps or defections these days. 

I'm struggling enough to take my back, back seat, preferably in the hall, across the street, in another town--- place in their lives. So, I'm more than a tad anxious about what's brewing as the 2018 Thanksgiving/Christmas at the OK Corral. My daughter has not spoken to me in almost 8 weeks. She is under the lovely spell and talons of HWWBN. Even if she is allowed to come home for a Christmas visit, I guess I'll be expected to vacate Santa's happy place (aka our home.) I'll go hug my dog and fight off dark imaginings of homicide. Not of killing her. Never. But of doing him in? For sure. Happy Holidays!

If you are one of my tribe, you wistfully look to the holidays to mend things. To bring not just family members home--but to bring tenderness back to the family circle. You cringe because you dread the inevitable Score Card/ Christmas Card mail in which you're told how shiny is everyone else's family and you're reminded that yours is falling apart. If it can qualify as "falling apart" when your kids are actively, assertively exiting. Does that still count as "falling apart?" Semantics. 

I, for one, will admit to falling apart. Yes, on the outside I'll appear cheery, upbeat, passably sane. That is not a fake persona. That is my Game face. I have to wear it, because catching my true face in an unexpected reflection can bring me to my knees. Yes, the same knees that seem to be failing at prayer power. When I catch my reflection, I see someone so sad, so weary, shattered and heartsick, that my knees buckle. You don't need to see that lady. Neither do I. Those are Game face rules.

It is isn't that I'm a grump about holidays, far from it. Why else would there be scattered Christmas doodads around my living room all year? I love them. I flirt with the holidays in September and by November first, I'm PDA obnoxious. I love them. But, frankly, the holidays, for me are like Bojangles fried chicken. I love it, but it doesn't love me. Both Bojangles and the holidays cause me intestinal unrest. Only, for me, holiday nerves include temporary Chrones plus tears. Both the kind you can and cannot hide.

What to do? Who to be? How to survive another Hallmark hell? I wish I could host a Halloween Holiday. That way, I could hide behind a mask and play off all my weird, nervous, foot in mouth antics as part of my costumed character. Maybe, like that awful time I was 7 and came back from Trick or Treating noticeably bruised, I could pick a costume that considerably obstructs my vision and hearing. Then, I wouldn't see or hear those unwelcome reminders that suggest that I may have outlived my purpose and overstayed my welcome as Mom in my grown kids' lives. 

What irks parents about this, is that our kids can boldly assert that they have outgrown us... before growing into courteous, considerate, kind adults. Even if they faked courtesy--I'd prefer it over the testy overgrown teenage angst played out around the dining room table each holiday by kids throwing tantrums, telling me how mature they are. This is where I could get on my soap box about Millennials and they could get on theirs about annoying parents.

Reflecting back on my question about how many people does it take to make a family, I have concluded my answer: one. One person to hold the memories of a life together, even if the memories are flawed or foggy or more fanciful than factual. One, to hold open a heart for reconciliation. Even if it must be held open judiciously. A mental picture of doors comes to mind. You may be abe to safely fling open the door of your heart to the family member who comes knocking. You may need to remain cautious, and visit over a Dutch door, with its bottom section locked. Or, you may need to visit through a locked screen door. We can love people who have hurt us. But we shouldn't be naive that if that is their nature, it can happen again. And if that person or persons never return, they may have provided us a patch big enough to add to the quilt of family in our mind. Plus, all the wonderful friends and mentors we have---they get to make up our mental family quilt. How many people does it take to make a family? One heart is big enough to do it. No matter if it is a heavy heart. After all, the heavy heart must be full.

I'll get through the holidays. I'll be thankful to get any moment with any of my kids. I'll get weepy if they call or come by. I'll stare at them too long and have too much desire to reminisce. I'll ask about stuff I promised myself not to ask. And I'll keep secret a couple of things they will one day wish I'd told them. I'm so grateful this isn't the year of a family death or tragedy. Not the kind for which there is a Sympathy Card, anyway. I think I can hear the train whistle! Gotta run. It is holiday go-time!