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I've heard rumors that the holidays are supposed to be relaxing. Rumors, I say. Allegedly, there were people sitting somewhere in front of a fire, roasting chestnuts while cozy beneath a down-filled throw.
Allegedly.
There are also tales floating around about enjoying the time with your extended family. I've also heard some idle gossip about snow during these times. However, I am almost positive that everything I have heard is some sort of fictional story spun out of holiday songs.
For me, the holidays would be more appropriate if spelled "holidaze." Because that is how I float through them, in a permanent, consistent fog.
I wonder, do people really have time to enjoy them? With the gift buying, the decorating, the onslaught of parties and events? Is there really any time for relaxation?
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I think not. If you aren't trying to find the perfect gift for your boss, you're trying to find the perfect gift for your partner, your child, your neighbor and anyone else that you need to give a healthy dose of the holiday spirit.
So when did people have time to relax and watch the endless array of holiday movies on television? I usually rent them to watch in June, when all is calm.
Of course, there are always the family events where your estranged cousin -- the one who grew the outrageously long beard and changed his name to a Crayola color -- gifts the family with his poetry. Then, there is the possibility of the office party where the creeper from the copy room may try to feel you up. If you are in a relationship, you also experience the other family's holiday parties. The ones where it isn't quite your family, so knowing how to react to them is new.
Holidaze, I tell you, holidaze.
Maybe I need to add some extra spice to the holidaze next year to provide relaxation, like more liquor or a bottle of horse tranquilizers. Perhaps there is some secret to remaining calm and organized while feeling accomplished during the holidaze?
Tell me: How do you keep it together during the holiday excitement? Any (legal) secrets?
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Monday 29 December
By sweet&nlove
I (unfortunately?) am still in the middle of the holidaze. My family lives in a different country so they are spending two weeks with me. I'm glad they're here and we have fun. It's crowded, to say the least, and my mom seems to forgot that I'm an adult now, so it's also stressful. I've secretly escaped to my boyfriend's house a couple times. It helped to be away from all the activity.
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Thursday 01 January
By PennStater
I got stuck spending Christmas at my mother-in-law's, aka The World's Worst Cook. I have gastro-intestinal issues and about half the time we leave her house I think I need to go to the hospital.
Who puts spaghetti sauce on pierogies? I thought they were raviolis and almost barfed on the spot when I bit. I hate pierogies to begin with, and that just about killed me.
Her veggies are boiled beyond recognition; her meat is bone dry.
I have severe reflux and everything she served me, from the barf pierogies and red wine to the cranberry juice that I thought was fruit punch until I drank, was LOADED with acid. Even the drinks were acidic; not even water to help me cut the acid.
I gagged and gagged all day while my idiot husband wolfed down her garbage like it was a four-star meal.
Meanwhile, the MIL spent the entire day checking out what was on my plate and bitching that I wasn't eating and what an insult it was to her. My husband would grab my plate, pile it high with more crap he knew I couldn't eat without agony, and demanded that I shovel it down so his poor old mother would be happy.
I threw up right at the table while trying valiantly to gag down more pierogies. I just couldn't handle it.
When we left we were both sick as dogs; him from overeating her bile and me from consuming more acid than my medication could handle.
It was the longest ride of my life; by the time we got home I was in so much distress I drove myself to the emergency room because my husband thought I was "full of it" despite my throwing up on his mother's Christmas dinner table.
So I spent the rest of Christmas in the hospital where the nurses laughed that I'd been poisoned by my mother-in-law.
At least she couldn't take another shot at me while I was in there and my husband finally realizes that gasto-intestinal problems are "real" health issues, not me just being an a****** picky eater as he would claim whenever I balked at something that I knew I couldn't get down.
Wow, wasn't THAT a relaxing holiday?
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