Getting Back in the Swing of Things
…is harder than I expected. It’s not that my life is dull these days, it’s just that I can’t figure out how to say what I want to say.
On Sunday, we will be going off for a week at a mountain resort to celebrate my father-in-law’s 75th birthday with the Consort’s two sisters and their families, the FIL with his wife and 11-year-old son, and my MIL (the ex-wife, who was invited). There will be drama. Heck, we’re already in the throes of anticipatory drama (not by me, I promise!).
Of all the in-laws, my FIL is the one I have the least pleasure being around. Depending on the day; sometimes I could honestly answer that his wife is the one in that spot.
I have no idea how I come across on my blog. Maybe you all know that I am pretty opinionated, stubborn, and have a memory a mile long when it comes to slights and pecadillos (or even the not-so-little sins*). Maybe I’ve hidden that pretty well from you all. Who knows?
I also feel the need to say what I think. Most of the time, I know when not to say things to others, so the poor Consort is stuck having to hear me rant in private.** When it is his family, it puts him in a pretty uncomfortable position, as you can imagine. Every time there is a get-together, I tell myself that I won’t bitch and moan to the Consort, I will “just let it slide.”
Yeah, that works about as well as when I tell myself that just because there are chocolate chips in the pantry doesn’t mean I should eat them. Ahem.
My plan this time is to bring a little notebook, in which I will record any of the comments I would normally feel the need to share with the Consort. If I get them off my chest that way, then it may be possible for me to not stress the Consort out during this “fun-filled family-togetherness week” (woohoo!***).
But all is not stress! On Wednesday, Impera turns 14 (holy shit!). Tomorrow evening, some of her school friends are coming over and we will have a picnic supper on the town green, listening to a Senegalese group’s concert. On Wednesday, some of our friends from Iowa are arriving for a visit; we’re planning a barbeque at the town pond to celebrate Impera’s birthday with these friends, my MIL, and my sister-in-law and her family. Fun, fun, fun!
*Look, if you’ve ever stolen anything, cheated on your partner, lied on your taxes, or done something else morally reprehensible, don’t tell me. I won’t be able to look past that. When people are praising your goodness to me, it will eat at me that I know the truth — and I will seethe. Every. time. we. are. in the same room. A professional**** told me once that my strong memory, which is a boon in my work as a copyeditor, is actually a curse when it comes to interpersonal relationships. Whereas others forget over time the tears and hurts inflicted upon them by others, I remember each incident. Especially the tears and hurts inflicted upon those I love.
**I also admit that although I sometimes think the comments I do make to the general populace are oh-so-subtle, they really aren’t.
***I did try this several years ago. I had a little notebook titled “Noxious Fumes” in which I ranted about a nasty-meanie of a woman who was the mother of one of Impera’s friends. It worked, meh, not so well. But I am more mature now; I won’t title the notebook with a silly pun.
****OK, a therapist. But it sounds so weird to say “a therapist”. At least coming out of my mouth. When it comes our of your mouth, it sounds fine.