Christmas with the Kranks

And within hours, with Blair Witch-like spookiness, Mom knows all. Has seen it in her crystal ball and is on her horse and riding (with the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, no doubt.)

She rails against Charlotte like King Lear railed against the wind. Even as Charlotte boards a plane to leave the country for a family vacation while all of her boys take a break from school and career.

Of course, Mom has a predictable pattern. Bully Charlotte and make her feel like a Terrible Person. Also say outrageously insulting and horrifying things about me in the same breath to cast doubt as to why Charlotte would ever pay any attention at all to what her Wicked Sister has to say. And lie. Make up a fairy tale version of all that Charlotte has called her out on. As if saying it makes it so. Mom is the queen of gas lighting. If you listen long enough, you may even be convinced that you may have lived in someone else's house.

And as luck would have it, I am away for a weekend with my kids and some friends, enjoying a Winter wonderland in the little hamlet where Charlotte and Jack own a cottage. We've rented a ginormous one and are enjoying hot toddies as Mom hurls her incendiary texts and phone calls. Always so thoughtful, Mom is going to harass Charlotte until she is too miserable to enjoy her family vacation. So I step in.

And I let the hot toddy do the talking. Via text, where I can do all the yelling I want without interruption. Two can play that game, Estelle.

Of course I have to break up the 1000 word tome into 4 or 5 separate texts so they come through on her flip phone. I take a small measure of glee from the fact that she'll be billed by her phone service carrier for the individuals texts.

I remind her that she is doing exactly the manipulative, conniving, hateful things I accused her of several years back when she was, well, doing a lot of manipulative, conniving, hateful things.

I told her she'd ruined her last Christmas. I tell her, in case there is any ambiguity, that she is distinctly unwelcome in my home at Christmas. That she should spare herself the embarrassment of appearing at the door and being turned away. That there is nothing, and no one that would be on either side of the door that could pressure me to let her cross the threshold. I've watched enough vampire movies to know that inviting in the uninvited does nothing but suck the life right out of you.

Charlotte calls me within minutes. With unprecedented speed, Estelle has figured out that Charlotte and I are not only discussing, but have completely agreed on a plan of action. She is furious. Someone is supposed to side with her. Her success at getting invited to Christmas (a Christmas she will manipulate and interfere with to the point where it is charred and smouldering by day's end) depends upon her successfully dividing and conquering us. She needs one ally who will join her in thumbing her nose at the other of us. She wasn't prepared, evidently, for an uprising.

It is such a great parenting tactic. Create infighting to weaken resistance. She should have been a wartime general.

Charlotte is obviously very upset. Mom is chastising her and has accused us of bashing her. (Well, Estelle, if the shoe fits...) I tell Charlotte to put Mom out of her mind and not to respond to anything. Mom is winning the war by upsetting her. Let me rattle Mom's cage. I don't happen to give a hang if she's upset, and there isn't much she can say that will penetrate my armor at this point. I can block her. I can hang up. It's not like she is going to drive north to pull my hair.

It cracks me up that Mom accuses us of talking about her behind her back. Like we should be so ashamed. Of course we are, because we are no more ashamed than she is when she's trashing one of us to the other (OK, to be truthful, it is her trashing me to Charlotte 995 of the time.) Yet the pot reserves the right to call the kettle black, simply because she is the pot. A boiling, oozing, putrid pot of festering swill.

I text once again. I tell her not to dare contact Charlotte again. Her issue is with me. I accuse her of being a coward. I dare her to call and do battle with me. And I tell her that of course she's offended that Charlotte dished to me about all that she has said and done. Abusive people always want their victims to be silent.

Yep. I wrote it. I called her abusive.

Let the fur fly.