Sniveler On The Roof

 As I mentioned in my last post, my mother loved putting whole, un-shelled nuts and un-peeled oranges into our Christmas stockings.  She doubled down her efforts to do so once she knew how much it annoyed her children.  (And why not?  Now that I'm a mom, I realize it can't be called "irritation"; it's called "payback".)

This stocking-stuffer exasperation aside, Mom had many delightful Christmas traditions.  For instance, we nearly always had her home-made "Sticky Buns" for breakfast after we'd opened our stockings.  And I shall forgive most transgressions if they're followed by the opportunity to ingest a stick of butter melted into copious amounts of brown sugar, the resultant gooey sauce then baked into white rolls sprinkled with nuts and raisins.

We also usually had a fine Christmas dinner feast, prepared by Dad, which involved hunks of meat and potatoes (with more butter, 'natch).  And, of course, the house would have been decorated for weeks with all the necessary ribbons, holly-themed candles, and tree ornaments.

The decoration traditions didn't end there, though.  My mom had cardboard cut-outs for nearly every holiday: bats for Halloween, bunnies for Easter, and even leprechauns for St. Patrick's Day.  As I recall, the little figures were printed on both sides of the posterboard, but one of each side also included felt-like details.  God, I loved that side: if I helped decorate, the felt side was always out on full display, ready to be lovingly caressed every time I passed by its hanging spot; the plain side of the decor was always ripped from old pieces of tape and never allowed to see the light of day, banished to the back like an unwanted second cousin at a wedding.

Huzzah!  Found some on eBay!  (If I felt like spending $89.99...because they're "vintage".)

I must remember to ask my mom if these cardboard cutouts came in some sort of "decor bulk pack" that she only had to buy once.  Because now I'm totally jealous that she had these simple items to throw onto the walls so she could become SuperMom with very little effort.  Not that she only did that; oh no!  There were also Easter egg hunts and Easter baskets, Valentine's cards and turkey crafts, 4th of July sparklers and back-to-school treats.  Even with three kids, even when she went back to working outside the home full-time, Mom kept up with these little traditions that made life special.

My sister is the same way: she makes sure her house is decorated for every holiday and that there are always crafts to complete and send off to relatives.  Even with three kids.  Even with Cub Scouts and church groups and helping at the in-laws' farm.

And then there's Yours Truly, who might remember to buy an egg-dying kit in time . . . but more-likely will just spend Easter morning hastily hard-boiling the last 3 eggs in the carton and covering them in stickers (and not necessarily spring-themed ones, either).  

Yours Truly, who actually owns some lovely window cling bats (thanks, Martha Stewart!), but hasn't put them up in two Halloweens.  

Who might have spent the time to loom-knit some cute little Thanksgiving pumpkins, but generally forgets about them until December 1st.  

Who managed to drag out all the Christmas decor last year, but then decided that was plenty of effort and left Mr. C to decorate the tree all by his little lonesome.

I, of course, prefer first to blame my boys for this tragic lack of holiday pep: Mr. C has never been very interested in crafts, and Bee has an aversion to kitchy-decor and glitter.  But, honestly, I've never pushed the issue or tried to find classier ways to decorate or to celebrate.  For, as you must know by now, my top character trait is "laziness", and I -- apparently -- value this trait above all others.

Mr. C wants a chronicle of our traditions, though, which is the prompt he gave to me for this month's post.  I find this quite terrifying, really, because I just don't think our family has any "traditions".

"That's not true," Bee says.  "I mean, I cook dinner every night." 

"I don't think that's a tradition," I say.  "That's a chore.  Traditions are something you do together to make life special."

"OK, then," he says, "what about Family Cleaning?"

Ahh, Family Cleaning: the perfect mix of "tradition" and "chore".  That fun little togetherness activity we started about 6 years ago whereby we are meant to spend an hour on Sunday morning tidying the house while we rock out to our favorite playlists and laugh and enjoy some family time.  

Ha.

"Why is there a sock on the coffee table?" I'll grumble as I'm sweeping the living room.

"It's not mine," says Mr. C from the kitchen.  "And Dad left his papers all over the kitchen table again, too."

"I don't see why these are considered MY papers," huffs Bee, plugging in the vacuum: "They're just family papers."

"Well, I don't want them," I snit, throwing the afore-mentioned sock his way.  "Why didn't you just recycle them right away instead of leaving them to clutter the table for 3 days?"

"Uh, I don't know," Bee barks, moving the papers from the kitchen table to the coffee table. "Maybe because I was busy making dinner every night this week!"

"Speaking of which," jumps in Mr. C, "do you HAVE to use so many dishes when you make dinner?  There are soooo many pans with dried-on food that I have to scrub now."

"Well, you wouldn't have to scrub so hard if you'd do the dishes every night like you're SUPPOSED to!" I bitch.

"Relax; they're getting done!" he yells.  "What's it matter when?" 

"It matters because the kitchen always looks trashed!" shouts Bee.

"That's right!" I scream to Mr. C, then round on Bee.  "But if you don't want it to look so trashed, why don't you just take care of all these papers?!"

"Hey, not everything on that table is mine!" he bellows.  "Whose checkbook is this? Whose photos are these?  Who left this tube of glitter out?"

"I was going to put those away," I screech, swiping off the offending items, "but I was busy paying our bills and putting together the family photo album."  (And watching Project Bake-Over on Hulu.)

"Whose stupid playlist are we listening to, anyway?" hollers Mr. C.  "I'm so tired of this song!"

"It's better than that crap YOU listen to!" one or both of his parents shouts back. 

 And then we all stomp off to separate rooms and ignore each other for the rest of the day.

Ahh, traditions.

But I can't think of many other ones the Toxic Household has: we must be averse to holiday traditions, for sure.  I always get anxious when someone asks what our family does for Christmas . . . there's that stress to come up with some interesting response.  All I can come up with is that we usually go over to the Ex-Parent-In-Laws By Marriage for Christmas Eve.  But that's it.

Oh, except that I often hide Mr. C's stocking on Christmas morning and he has to complete a scavenger hunt to get it back:

ransom note excerpt from "The Mischievous Elves"

 

Of course, as with Family Cleaning, this little tradition ends up causing much contention: I usually forget to come up with clues until 9 pm on Christmas Eve, Mr. C inadvertently skips a few of them, anyway, then doesn't understand a couple more, then manages to find the stocking by pure luck or coincidence as I watch the proceedings with frustration and wonder why I bothered.

Ahh, traditions.

Oh, God, and now I've just thought of one more tradition we have: this blog.  Yet-another thing I created with the thought that "it would be a fun thing for the family", but that has twisted itself into a point of stress.  As my self-imposed monthly deadline approaches (and -- often -- passes), Mr. C begs to know what I'm going to write about, and I start getting overly-snippy.  Of course, now that I'm involving him more by making him come up with the prompts, at least I get to passive-aggressively let him share the stress a little, too.  Unfortunately, Mr. C takes all this in unruffled stride, waiting 12 hours before my self-imposed deadline to casually throw out some vague topic I KNOW he doesn't really care about ("How about Cub Scouts?"), and then expecting me to come up with a gem of an essay about it. 

Ha, well I'll get him!  I'll wait 3 days past that deadline no one cares about, then spend hours cobbling together an essay no one would believe took hours to cobble together, then publish it so no one will read it!  That'll show him!

But I'll keep doing it, because I love my kid (and -- let's face it, the sound of my own voice).  And my kid loves this blog.  And, a year later, when I get a hard copy published as a Christmas present and Mr. C and Bee and I sit down to read a few posts after Family Cleaning, we'll all be so tickled at both the chronicle of our lives and the shit I made up . . . and, so, the cycle will continue.

Ahh, traditions.