Monday, July 30, 2007
The Perfect Storm
In terms of high-stress events, moving and having one's parents visit are probably both towards the top of the list. So I knew that having the two combined into a weekend-long orgy of trying to prevent my mother from lifting ninety-pound boxes of my sister's educational research books and thereby breaking a hip was not going to be a vacation. I figured that my sister would randomly challenge my every decorating choice, my father would endlessly search for the perfect parking spot, and my mother would seize the opportunity to cry about how her children, now both in their late twenties, are "growing up." I did not expect, however, that my mother would indulge her packrat instincts to the point of packing both a six-month-old copy of People magazine and a disposable McDonald's cup featuring images from the 2002 Olympics for the big move. Nor could I anticipate that my father would turn the actual moving of stuff into a series of physical challenges like stationary bike tossing and lamp rolling. There truly were some sights to behold.
Also, I learned that I can become incredibly testy when expected to entertain for an entire weekend, as evidenced by my uttering of the following phrases:
"What do you mean, 'a simple question?' There's no such thing as a simple question in this family. We have leading questions, questions freighted with guilt, and questions that are actually accusations, but no 'simple' questions."
"Move the lamp over there? Sure, we could. Or maybe we could not change every single thing about the way I live my life right now."
"Of course you can stay until dinner. I can't imagine how we'll possibly fill the time until then, but I'd love to have you."
I firmly believe that the family that inflicts deep emotional wounds together stays together.
In terms of high-stress events, moving and having one's parents visit are probably both towards the top of the list. So I knew that having the two combined into a weekend-long orgy of trying to prevent my mother from lifting ninety-pound boxes of my sister's educational research books and thereby breaking a hip was not going to be a vacation. I figured that my sister would randomly challenge my every decorating choice, my father would endlessly search for the perfect parking spot, and my mother would seize the opportunity to cry about how her children, now both in their late twenties, are "growing up." I did not expect, however, that my mother would indulge her packrat instincts to the point of packing both a six-month-old copy of People magazine and a disposable McDonald's cup featuring images from the 2002 Olympics for the big move. Nor could I anticipate that my father would turn the actual moving of stuff into a series of physical challenges like stationary bike tossing and lamp rolling. There truly were some sights to behold.
Also, I learned that I can become incredibly testy when expected to entertain for an entire weekend, as evidenced by my uttering of the following phrases:
"What do you mean, 'a simple question?' There's no such thing as a simple question in this family. We have leading questions, questions freighted with guilt, and questions that are actually accusations, but no 'simple' questions."
"Move the lamp over there? Sure, we could. Or maybe we could not change every single thing about the way I live my life right now."
"Of course you can stay until dinner. I can't imagine how we'll possibly fill the time until then, but I'd love to have you."
I firmly believe that the family that inflicts deep emotional wounds together stays together.
