Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Christmas 2002. Back when Paul was The Boy. Back when I was living in Ohio. My last Christmas there, actually. The Boy and I went to the Waffle House for breakfast Christmas morning. Then we were heading over to my parents' to open gifts, then on to his. We slept in and were in no rush to get food. As we're pulling in to the Waffle House, my dad calls.
"What the hell are you doing?"
I am completely taken aback at this greeting.
"Uh, Paul and I were grabbing breakfast, then heading over to your place."
"You need to get over here right now."
"I don't think we'll be too long here."
"No, get your ass here now."
My dad hung up on me. He's never hung up on me before. On Christmas morning, no less. I turn to Paul.
"Well, it looks like another fun holiday* with my family. Why don't you go on to Troy and I'll catch up later."
So I head over to Turtleback Drive. When I get there, my sister and my mom are screaming at each other. I take Lindsay into the living room to calm down. She wants me to take her to the hospital because she can't breathe because she's crying so hard. I'm able to get her back to normal. Basically what happened was a lack of planning. Lindsay had a boyfriend also, and she was going to his parents' to open gifts later. Well, my mom wanted us to be able to spend at least some time together, but they had already sort of started an argument. Then Lindsay comes downstairs with her gifts for the family--unwrapped. See, to my mom, not wrapping your gift = you don't love me. To be fair, I see her point. Even though a person is going to rip open the paper and throw it away, wrapping it shows a bit of extra care. Either way, this whole thing started because Lindsay did not wrap her gifts.

Why rehash this story? To make a point. Yesterday two boxes arrived in the mail for my birthday. My mom called to tell me not to open them until the 23rd.


Because she didn't wrap the gifts.

:-) Sweet, sweet irony.

* There was the Christmas I upset my mom when I didn't like the shirts she got me (we have very different taste in clothes). Or the Father's Day that Lindsay ripped up my dad's card. Or the Christmas when my mom cried the whole time when Lindz told her she hated her gifts.
I could go on, but you get the picture. It's not that they're all bad. Heck, I have plenty of good memories with my family. It just seems that holidays are always a little, uh, frazzled.


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