I think it’s an important holiday – I barely acknowledge it. I don’t go to church because they’re all Baptist here and I’m not one. I’m on the outs with my daughter, the Little Treasure, still, but both of my kids spend the day with their mom anyway, so there ya go. The new SB spent the day with her parents, though she may come up early on Friday. I’ve got her for the weekend regardless, but not this weekend.
My mom was an artist, my dad was a super-achiever in banking. Artist = insane. Sorry, it’s true – just a matter of time. She went koo-koo for Cocoa Puffs around 40 and living with her was hell, and the holidays were the worst. Her own family fell apart and didn’t talk, and she was convinced that my dad’s family was out to get her, so we’d stay home in a 21 room house, have some extravagant dinner that was always ruined somehow, she’s bitch at us and drink too much, and I’d get the hell out of there as fast as I freaking could.
I think my work ethic comes from how much I didn’t want to be in the house, and saying, “I have a job,” was sacrosanct.
I used to like cinnamon buns, so she’d make them and bitch about how hard they were. One Thanksgiving I was tasked with taking the pan out of the oven. I’d never done that before, reaching the pan out I overcompensated for the weight of the buns and hot, caramelized sugar ran over the base of my thumb. I was 13 I think. I screamed and tried to put the pan down, but actually stood in my way demanding to know what my problem was. My the time I could put the pan down I had a divot in my hand and a few blisters and it hurt like hell.
No way were we going to the emergency room on Thanksgiving. That would be inconvenient and embarrassing, and mom had done a lot of work on food that would be ruined. Instead we sat at the table in good clothes, I held my hand while my mom shot me looks and bitched at me for ruining another holiday. At the end of the meal I got to choke down a cinnamon roll because she went through a LOT of trouble, and I was damn well going to eat them.
36 years later I haven’t eaten another one. It is the first thing I think of every single holiday. I’d cook for the kids on Thanksgiving if I had them, or on Christmas, but I can’t stand the idea of a tree in the house or too much food at the table for just that reason.
So today I took my son out to breakfast at IHop, then came home and made sure I’d made the last patch on the outdoor irrigation system successfully, and then took a nap. Dinner was cold pizza and a beer. Now I’m off to bed.
Sorry so down this time, my droogies. This one is more about venting than anything else.