I have deliberated for days whether to share this or not. On the one hand, it's totally airing my family's undergarments. On the other hand, I know we're not alone in this and maybe, just maybe, it will help someone.
No one actually wants to hear about your Thanksgiving when they ask how it was, so I've been going around saying it was great. Which is completely not true.
In the pro column, we had a small gathering of family and adopted family. My mom lives 2 hours from here, so I picked her up the day before and made her stay a couple days before driving her back.
From here out, I'm going to thinly veil this by calling our mothers Grandmother A and Grandmother B. That way one of them doesn't get profiled as an unspeakable jerk. Which one of them was.
In Grandmother A's defense, she hurt her back recently and is on painkillers. She struggles with memory anyway, and the painkillers made her even more confused. The confusion came out as antagonism.
(I am sugar-coating this. She is really good at being antagonistic, even on a good day.)
Nothing was right for her. She hated the cheese on the relish tray. We'd hand her something to try and she'd yell at us. And then she'd complain that no one was giving her anything to eat.
Grandmother B did like the relish tray, and was eating off the cheese knife. Fortunately for all of us, dinner was ready.
Because of the painkillers, I offered Grandmother A ginger ale. She made a face at me, so I listed the other options.
"I don't give a damn what you give me," she said.
That pretty much sums up dinner.
Grandmother B and our guest were horrified. Unable to deal with the sniping (though not directed at her), Grandmother B prayed loudly throughout dinner.
It was... great.
I couldn't resist sneaking off and sending World's Worst Thanksgiving texts to my sister, who found them hilarious. (Don't worry - her shift is coming up soon.)
In actuality, it wasn't the World's Worst Thanksgiving - by a long shot. We had plenty of food, a roof over our heads and - for the most part - each other. I worry about the kids, but the kids were only worried about getting the right kind of pie.
Intellectually, I know that Grandmother A left the building a long time ago. She's in a sort of survival mode, in which nothing is filtered. We're told she doesn't mean half of what she says (although she may truly hate Stilton with cranberries). Knowing that she won't remember what she said 5 minutes from now doesn't help as much as it should. I catch myself wincing when I hear her voice.
I cannot, however, say that she ruined Thanksgiving. You can't ruin Thanksgiving for anyone but yourself.
And that's what I came away with. Grandmother A sent the appearance of a nice Thanksgiving up in flames, but she couldn't touch the real thing.
Despite aggressively grumpy appearances, we have much to be grateful for.