Ebony and Ivor-eeeee

Seeing your mother flirt = weird. Checking out ring fingers for wedding bands on behalf of your mother without her knowing it = even weirder.

The weekend was, well, chaos. I expected as much but I didn’t expect it to be as stressful as it was. It started off with an immediate attack of drama and toomuchinformation by Mother, resulting in my staying up all night rehearsing a mind speech of the “I really don’t think this is any of my business and I feel like we shouldn’t talk about it because I’d like to have a good time while I’m here…” nature that I never got to use, because the attack was, thankfully, momentary. We were well-behaved and happy for the remainder of our time together.

Mother was getting anxious about the time at 10:00 despite our having to be in Boston at 2:30, so I was all “Don’t worry – there’s plenty of time – please don’t create stress” etc. etc., so we leisurely consumed a lovely brunch at a rare privately owned restaurant in the area (best onion rings ever) and then found ourselves getting into the car at 2:15.

Curses! I then began creating stress as I had told C I’d be at his wedding early at 3:30 in order to get from him his video camera in order to tape the ceremony. It was 2:15 and D needed to shower and iron things, I needed to do my hair, and we both needed to change. Luckily I’d picked out the preferred shoes/dress combo prior to leaving (as I’d had to throw millions of things in a bag because we were late leaving NYC on Friday night too). We’d get to Somerville at 3:15 (best case scenario) and have all of ten minutes to do all of those things.

I chilled out, channeling my new chill self and trying desperately not to succumb to the melodrama surrounding the fact that I’d be ruining C’s wedding by not being there to tape it.

D and I prepared like pros, and were at the hotel by 3:45. I had a momentary panic as we walked into the hotel and I saw S, the best man, driving away. “Holy crap,” I said. “What if the ceremony isn’t here and it’s just the reception? OH MY GOD!” When we walked into the hotel, the thing at the front said that the reception was upstairs but there was no indication as to what was going on with the ceremony. Cursing my idiocy, I timidly asked the person behind the desk about the ceremony, and lo and behold, it was upstairs too. Thank you, hotel, for giving me a heart attack.

The ceremony – awesome. Personal, adorable, non-denominational, a mere 20 minutes. The reception – amazing. Equally personal and adorable, no throwing of the bouquet, no receiving line. It moved quickly, the bar was open, we were sitting with a bunch of awesome people who will hopefully be our new friends when we move. Best of all, no DJ. C basically DJ’d his own wedding. He knows his friends best, so he was able to steer the reception in certain directions. And when we thought of a song he didn’t have, he downloaded it from ITunes. It was brilliant. We danced like maniacs.

Best of all was C’s playing Eternal Flame for me as a birthday gift. My table swarmed around the bride and groom while C passed around the microphone so we could all sing karaoke-style.

Father picked us up, a la high school. He left us alone with Crazy Aunt and her newly purchased Mac Book Pro, and I didn’t sleep again due to the insanity that is Crazy Aunt and the fact that it was like 12 degrees in her apartment.

It’s hard to sleep on the floor on a cold air mattress when your host keeps the heat on 66 and it’s about 10 degrees outside and drafty in the living room. It’s even harder not to slug the host the following day when she mentions 12,000 times to whoever will listen how you rudely turned up the heat and caused her to have feverish nightmares in the middle of the night.

I am learning that I have a hard time feeling bad for people who demand that I feel bad for them.

She wouldn’t let it go, and I kept saying “Well, if it’s any consolation, I slept last night in three layers of clothes and my winter hat and got about three hours of sleep once D so kindly turned the heat up” and still she wouldn’t let it go.

The following day was more yelling and insanity as Crazy Aunt took over the plan of my going out to brunch with Father, Sister and D. The whole reason for my visit was to spend quality time with Father, Just In Case. I thought the four of us could go out and have a nice, quiet day on the town. Crazy Aunt, trying to be nice, offered instead to cook us brunch to save money and time waiting in lines. She then invited Mean Grandmother, guaranteeing that nobody would have a good time. There was screaming and antagonism and people being really mean to Father, and Crazy Aunt demanding that people eat multiple omelets and “SIT DOWN!” and “DON’T GO OUT THE FRONT DOOR TO GET THE BISCOTTI!” and “WHY CAN’T YOU HELP OUT AND GET THE SILVERWARE WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?” (to which Father responded “You just told me to sit down” and she said “BUT STILL YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER!”) and “SIT DOWN MA!” and oh my god my head explodes just thinking about this.

Father was understandably moody. I don’t know how he deals with these people on top of everything else he has to deal with. He sadly asked me if I’d play piano. I am rusty as I’ve had zero time to practice in recent months, so I asked instead that he play and requested songs that I could sing along with. There were tears, of course, and I almost lost it while singing “Try To Remember” from The Fantasticks. Sister eventually appeared post-nap-attempt, and we broke out a random 80s song book and performed our lovely renditions of songs like “Glory of Love” and “Against All Odds.”

Crazy Aunt was up in our faces with her video camera, telling us to stop so she could re-shoot or to move because the shot wasn’t right, and I nearly had a celebrity/paparazzi moment where I swatted the camera because for the love of god leave me alone I am trying to enjoy some time with my family. It doesn’t always need to be a project. It doesn’t always need to be documented. And if it’s going to be documented, document what’s actually happening, not what you’re making happen.

And please stop interrupting.

No, I take it back. STOP INTERRUPTING.

They are all the same, and they make me crazy.

While we were singing, Brother appeared as a surprise for Father. More tears all around, on film, of course. I held it together because my happy/sad emotions were balanced out by my desire to rage against certain people and the camera, so the result was neutral.

I desperately wanted to get out of the house, and enjoy being Together. Crazy Aunt invited herself out for dinner with us, and I nearly cried. I just wanted time with Father, to see how he was doing without them yelling at him all the time. Luckily a friend of hers stopped by so she didn’t come. I think I did cry at this point out of relief.

We got into cars and headed to Central Square to check out Sister’s new apartment. While in the car, Sister (in the car with D and I) called Mother to tell her that The New Man would be coming to our Family Oscar Party, which had been organized by yours truly to provide to Mother some good, relaxed, authentic, conflict-free, drama-free fun. While Mother picked up the phone, Sister was mid-curse against Father, who was running yellow lights even though D was following him, thus causing D to run two red lights. Two reds in ten minutes! This caused Mother to ask “Who’s in the car with Father?” to which Sister responded “Brother!”

Drat. Surprise ruined. Mother likes nothing more than to have us All Together, and we’d orchestrated this whole master plan to surprise her but, alas, foiled by a weird question. Who asks that? Especially about their ex-husband? Why did she care? Sister felt bad, but seriously, she was caught off guard.

We ate a low-key low-intensity dinner at Miracle of Science, which I thought would be nice as its menu looks like the periodic table and Father digs that sort of thing. He was quiet, reserved. He said “I’m learning to listen more” when I asked him what was wrong.

We left him at his car and tried not to be too sad. I gave him a really big hug, Just In Case. It’s hard to leave the sad parent for the happy parent, even when you know they both need you.

We met up with Sister and The New Man at the condo, where Mother had prepared a lavish feast for 12 million people even though there were only six of us (two of those in attendance unplanned). She’d made two baked bries (is brie or bries the plural of brie?), spinach artichoke dip (the full recipe even though I’d recommended that she make half), asparagus poppers (like 30 of them), grape nut custard (aka crack), banana bread, and chocolate chip cookies.

She was so happy. She was low stress. She is learning that she can have fun and that it doesn’t need to be a drama when people come over. She stayed up for the whole thing! I am so proud. We bashed the outfits, particularly Anne Hathaway, and meticulously graded our ballots. Sure, people made fun of the ballots at first but oh the joy they bring to the Oscar party! Mother kept saying “I’ve never seen Cate Blanchett with a man…” and “What does Leo have to do to GET AN OSCAR?” We screamed when Al appeared, we sighed when Clive walked onto the stage, and laughed at Will Ferrell.

We’d planned to spend more time with her on Monday (and to eat more of the best onion rings ever) but snow interfered with our plans. We decided to leave MA early and were greeted with the most traffic-less trip home ever. Maybe because it was Monday? Maybe because people were freaked out about the snow? Regardless, we were back in NYC by 4:00 and napping by 6:00 to recover from many sleepless nights in a row.

I was stressed, folks. I was stressed because as I get older, I realize that many people in my life cause me stress. As Brother said in the car on Monday “What they don’t understand is that we try to lead a mellow life…”

I do try to lead a mellow life. It pains me that it takes effort for me to be mellow, as I was raised in an environment of hysteria. Mother had her gall bladder out yesterday. I was anxiously awaiting the call to make sure that everything would be ok (which I knew it would be – again, hysteria about signing life insurance policies because it is highly likely that one will die while having a gall stone removed, etc. – if I ever have children I will raise them not to be alarmists – they will be so relaxed, I can’t wait, but then maybe they will think that I don’t care), and picked up the phone when it rang. I said “What’s the good word?” to Grandmother, who then proceeded to rant about how she had been waiting and waiting and waiting in the waiting room, assuming that Mother was dead because she hadn’t heard anything and they didn’t tell her anything! and when they finally appeared they said “We didn’t know you were here! She’s been in recovery for an hour, and everything’s fine!” and she said “how could they keep me waiting? I was so worried!” and I had to be like “OK, but what of the gall bladder?” and she’s all exasperated and you know what? The gall stone was the size of a freaking golf ball and you know what? The doctor said that Mother is going to feel so much better and you know what? This is GOOD NEWS and we should not be negative. She’s FINE. And you know what else? This is not about you. It just isn’t. Stop making drama. Stop being so put out. Say “We’re so relieved and happy that she’s going to feel better.” I am so happy for Mother because she’s been in a lot of confusing pain, and she is going to feel much better now. Mother has a good attitude too, and Grandmother seemed to have a better attitude when I spoke with her later in the day, but seriously. Don’t stress me out when there’s good news. It’s good news! Please let it be good!

Things like this prevent me from leading a mellow life.

It is no wonder than I am insecure. Everything is scary, everything is wrong.

This is what being home does to me. I freeze and have ten minute conversations about what will happen with three minutes of time and everything is serious and important and nobody knows how to just enjoy themselves.

But I think that the important people are learning to relax, enjoy life for what it is, and not fear it for what it isn’t.

The best moments of the weekend were singing with Father and Sister and watching the Oscars. These moments were people having fun, and letting the other things go. It’s possible to have fun. It’s possible to just exist. It’s possible to enjoy one another without being critical or mean or nervous or planned.

This is what I want my life to be, and I am bitchy enough to eliminate the things that prevent my life from being this way.