Hooray for Parents

And thus the holidays are officially over. Nothing douses the last glowing embers of the holidays like a family member's floundering marriage to someone you don't like anyway, and your mother's insistence that you become involved with the rescue mission. Whether the victim you are rescuing is your family member or the marriage is immaterial. Both options are equally sucky.

And one night, as I am sitting at Kate's house having a beer and her father's Hot Dish recipe and exchanging Christmas gifts while our children make a Hollywood quality short film about vampires and murder with a tripod and video camera, I am struck by something.

Kate and I have remarkably similar lives and are generally in sync with one another, yet to look at our mothers, you'd expect something different.

Consider the party Kate threw so her friends could see her parents. (I said we'd get to that.)

Kate invites her parents to see her son sing in a Christmas concert and they not only accept the invitation, but fly up for 5 or 6 nights, and stay in her house. They also spend time with their grandchildren, go on outings with Kate and her family, and do little projects around the house (like remove and paint all the shutters.)

My mother migrates once a year, only for Christmas, unless there is something she can not save face and blow off (like a high school graduation) But she and Bill won't stay for more than a day or two, and won't even stick around for the party, natch. Something like a recital or concert would never rank. (And we've already been over the issue of accommodations.) Until this year, (and Mom moved away 14 years ago), Mom never stayed with me or Charlotte. She usually stayed with the Lushes, as Mrs. Lush was someone she called her "BF" or "Breast Friend." (I am not making this up.) She was her BF for years and spent every Christmas with her. (Before, I guess, she became NFAA, aka No Friend At All) There was that one time she spent Christmas Eve with me so that I would not have to wake up alone on my first Christmas morning without the kids. But even then Bill would not come. And certainly wasn't painting my shutters.

Kate celebrates her parents and throws a party. Mostly because we, her girlfriends, all want to see them (or even if it is not too much to ask, to be adopted by them) and immediately place the party on our calendars. In ink. Charlotte and I, on the other hand, invite our friends for Christmas Eve only as a matter of survival, and of course, avoiding lengthy jail sentences for murdering our mother or her spouse in fits of rage. We offset the parents with friends, and a 2:1 ratio is most favorable. The more the merrier. More eyes to roll in the kitchen when my mother brings up some dicey topic. Like Viagra. Or politics. Or race relations.

And I had worked myself into a lather about my mother meeting Scott, not because she might not like him (not a chance, and who cares anyway?) but because she might torture him endlessly and/or run him off as Mothers-in-Law from Hell often do.

Meanwhile, I could not wait to introduce Scott to Mr. and Mrs. Kate's Parent's. Because they are important and I care that they meet him. And because they are loads of fun. And they have grown up relationships with their children and enjoy their company. And have gotten to know their children's friends. And socialize without getting completely plastered and passing out. And without insulting, talking over, admonishing, or denigrating any of the other guests. How novel! Kate's Dad spent the evening mixing killer Old Fashioneds and her Mom buzzed about filling glasses and getting caught up on everyone's lives. Even Scott's! Kate's Mom even remarked to him that "Liza's last boyfriend was a real dud!" You can't buy parents like these!

Kate's sisters came to celebrate. One from the Heartland and one from the Sunny South. They all cried when they realized they were all miraculously together for Christmas. Joe and Charlotte and I haven't occupied the same room since about the time of my Dad's funeral. And don't want to. If forced to do so, there would indeed be tears but not like those shed by Kate and her sibs.

And my children were ooohed and aaahed over by Kate's parents and sisters and generally made to feel special and wonderful and good. And all the girlfriends could enjoy one another's company and catch up without having to worry if anyone had wandered off and passed out in the yard by the blow up snowman, or if anyone was being raked over the hot coals for their political views being too far to the left. And no one got yelled at for having a messy room.

A lovely night, and over much too soon. I wonder if Kate's parents would join us on Christmas Eve next year? I may need a couple of replacement parents by then.