Family, getting there on time, and trying keep my mouth shut.

(an aside. Charlie just got ahold of a wad of paper that was in a shoe box. You know, what they stuff the shoe with so it looks beautiful and well-formed. As soon as I started typing, it was his cue to start ripping it apart in the other room. I ignored it at first, as it's usually one of the postcard inserts from one of my many magazines. It got louder, and so I went to investigate. He sees me, grabs the paper wad and runs into my bedroom; madly ripping as many tiny bits of it apart as I yell "no" at him and lunge to grab the paper. He takes it and rips several more tiny pieces of paper, my bedroom now looking like someone threw confetti, and then allows me to grab it. It could've been worse, I know. It could've been the shoe.)



Alright, back to my topic. My sister Amy's 39th birthday is tomorrow. She just bought her first house, in Chatsworth, and so we were all to meet there, oo and ah over the place, and then go to lunch. Chatsworth is a bit less than 100 miles away; on Mapquest it's supposed to be a 1 hour and 27 minute drive. We were to be there at 11:00am. Okay, no problem.

But. My mother doesn't drive more than 10 miles at a time, in daylight, and not on the freeway, so I had to drive her. Again, no problem.

Except. She calls last week and says, "So honey, I'll get there at 8:30 so we can get to Amy's on time." I tell her that that's way too early, and that we'd get to Amy's house an hour early.
"Well, we'll just have more time to spend with her, and she can open her presents. It will just be easier."

("For whom?" I'm thinking.)

I try to compromise: "How about 9am, Mom? That will give us plenty of time to get down there early, and I can walk the dog and all that without rushing."

"Okay, but I'll still plan on being at your place at 8:30. If you have to do a couple of things, I'll wait."

"Maw-ahm (this is said in an exasperated tone). We don't have to get there so early. Danny's not going to be there until 11:00."
"Fine, if it's too much trouble, you don't have to go. I can always take the train. It goes right to Chatsworth."

This is what I call the "put-upon, Jewish-but-not-really-Jewish, mother" routine. I know she's manipulating me, it totally makes me nuts, and it always works.
"no, no, Mom. It's not that. I just don't want to leave so early. I have a ton of stuff to do before the end of school."
"Sweetheart... I'll get there between 8:30 and 8:40, you take your time, and we'll get there. I just don't want to have to rush once we're on the road."

So I gave in. Hated myself, am whining about it now, but I gave in.

And. This morning? I'm getting dressed, and I hear a car in the drive. It's Mom. What time is it? 8 fucking 12 in the morning. She comes in, I say she's early, have a seat, and she says no, she's going to be sitting for a while in the car. So, I'm racing around the house, trying to get the card and my sister's presents and put the towels away and make sure Charlie has enough water, with her just hovering over me. Saying nothing. Now, I know I should have taken my time, but I got so revved up and angry at her... I was all sweaty and a big old grouch when we got in the car. I did stop at Starbucks to get a coffee, and hopefully kill some time.

We got to Amy's at 10:17. Yes, her house is great, no, I don't care where she puts the zinnias or what color her master bathroom is. Actually, it was great to see her so happy. But, it was also totally boring after the first ten minutes. My brother, Danny? He showed up at 11:45. Of course.

So, we finally get to go to lunch. Nope, Amy has a surprise. We're all going to have a cookout at her house! Just like we used to. All of us together.

This idea was met with silence. See, my mother is a terrible cook, Amy is more adventurous than talented in the kitchen, and my brother and his girlfriend mostly eat takeout and microwaveable food from Trader Joe's.

Danny: "Oh, wouldn't you rather we take you out? No clean up or anything."
Mom: "Honey, that's a sweet idea, but you've been working so hard, let us take you out."
Me: "Yeah Amy, wouldn't you like to go somewhere and get something quick and easy?"

Amy: "No you guys, I got hamburgers, and chips, and diet soda, and stuff to make salad like Mom used to make. We can all help each other."

I need to say here that never in my recollection did my family ever cook together. I remember the kitchen being off limits at all times except when I had express permission from my mother, which was rarely. We certainly were never allowed in there when she was busy. We just got underfoot and in her way.

Oi. But Amy has that sad little puppy look on her face, and it is her birthday, so we all shut up. However. Danny is put in charge of the grill, where he soon drops one of the hamburgers through the grill, and ends up mangling most of the others. He doesn't barbecue. Mom makes the salad she made when we were little: Chopped iceberg lettuce, chopped pickle, cubes of cheddar cheese, sunflower seeds and Parmesan cheese from the big green shaker.

It's not very good.

We ate, we made nice, and I got home around 3:30.

So, here's the question. When it obviously makes another person feel safer, or more comfortable or happier, why is it so annoying when it's simply not what oneself would like to do? Why is it so hard to just let go, and go with it, rather than become all uptight, as I did, and then complain about it here?