The Matriarchy: Be Careful What You Wish For

When the duty to be the hostess for the family holidays first came down to me, I was excited. I had my mother's Noritake china and brushed gold flatware that I was thrilled to be able to trot out for occasions. I had a house I loved and had the space. Then the reality of it set in:

1. It's a lot of work when you're working a lot.

2. I would try to please two former matriarchs by honoring their traditions and serving their recipes when I had two daughters in the throes of their eating disorders. No one was happy as a result.

3. Instead of sometimes causing some of the family drama (ask me about the Christmas we all got lice that the kids picked up from trying on bonnets at Pioneer Farms for just one example), I had to navigate around it.

4. The reality is, I've concluded, someone will be pissed off at something no matter what you do, but you work so hard to prevent it that it stings on a really deep level all the more because of it.

And yet I persist.  As a matter of fact, I doubled down. Having always wanted Christmas dishes, I got a set of Lenox last fall at an estate sale. If drama will ensue, at least it'll be around a beautifully set table.  But honestly, now that we're a smaller group it's not the drama that threatens to undo me; it's just the labor of it.

When my mother-in-law more or less handed me the reins, no one wanted her to I don't think. They loved their family traditions and it must have seemed like a betrayal of them.  Coming to my house wasn't the same as going back to the home they grew up in. Christmas memories were made at her house, not mine.  I get it, but I can look back now and absolutely know why she did it.  My guess is she was ready to relax and be a guest, not a hostess. I actually almost begged her to take it back for a year in 2009. My daughter had died six months before; I didn't want to throw a family holiday. I wanted nothing to do with the holidays in all candor. But she wasn't having any of it. Maybe she thought it would be good to give me something to do, and maybe it was.  It ended up being one of the nicer, mellow holidays I hosted.  It would be my mom's last, and she had a good day.  That was a gift. But, sometimes I wonder if Jan was just too tired to take it back, even briefly. I understand now if that was the case, I really do.

It starts with Thanksgiving, which is not exactly a walk in the park for a 60-something working woman just on its own.  The day after Thanksgiving, when you've been on your feet all day cooking the day before, you get the honor of working on your feet all day throwing up Christmas decorations. Then the shopping and wrapping ensue.  Every night for nearly a month if I wasn't working or physically at a sporting event, I was wrapping gifts. Countless hours choosing paper, ribbon and unique gift tags to make a nice presentation, all of which will be ripped off in less than two hours on Christmas day. And if you have kids or grandkids, there's the worry of making it all equitable: if one kid has x number of packages to unwrap, the other one better have the same number.  And then there's the mother-in-law in her current state of mind. I got her quite a lot for Christmas a few years back. I felt bad for her at that juncture: she was away from her kids and living in a state she had no affinity for.  You know what she told me? That I embarrassed her.  No thank you.  Just "you embarrassed me." In my kinder moments I understand why: she had always been the one who was the overly generous gift giver, and at that point it bothered her that she could not reciprocate. She doesn't get as much anymore from us.  But there is a lot of worry to not under-do it either; she's still deserving of nice things after all.  To sum up: it's a lot of physical work to wrap all that crap, and a lot of emotional stress about how it'll all be received. Let's not even talk about the expense!

If I wasn't wrapping, I was baking.  Because what's Christmas without home baked cookies? 

Last week after I finished wrapping the last gift, and all the baking and prep work I could do was done, I came downstairs and plopped myself on the couch,  Greg found Captain America on FX for me, and I just stared blankly at it until I finally got the energy to get up and go to bed. To truly appreciate how drained I was: not only do I own all the Avenger and Captain Americas on Blu-ray, I have Disney +, but there I sat watching it with commercials.  Commercials. Who watches stuff with commercials anymore?!

But you get past the wrapping, then there's the actual day: a lot of chaos if kids are involved. And cooking and then hand washing all that fancy Lenox I wanted so badly. It's a long day.

Now add in the caretaker part: Christmas takes a lot out of my MIL. The next day was a true challenge for her, which means it was for us as well.

And that's another point to the holidays: the rest of life keeps going.  All this just gets layered on.

Yeah, I get why Jan threw in the towel at roughly my age. Even at its best it's a lot.

Am I ready to pass the torch myself? No, not really - despite all my belly aching about it. And I don't think my daughter, who works hard and has the other constant exhaustion issue women have - young motherhood - is ready to take it. But what I can tell you is: respect and go hug the matriarch in your family. If she's over the age of 60, flat out worship her because I can tell you that personally all I really want to do now is sleep for a month, and my back wants a divorce. And there's still taking down the decorations to look forward to.  My guess is your mom or grandmother, or whoever filled that role in your life, felt that way too at least some of the time, and I bet you never knew. Because that's the other thing: we all want to make it seem like it was a breeze.

If you are that person, I got nothing but mad respect for you. Let's go for a massage.

Happy New Year!

What's Aging Anyway?

You've probably said one of these.  I'm pretty sure I've said them all to various friends on birthday cards and Facebook greetings:

"You're only as old as you feel."

"Age is just a number."

"We're like fine wines; we improve with age." (That's a staple in my retinue.)

There are other sappier ones:

"Aging is not lost youth but a new stage of opportunity or strength." Barf.  Whoever wrote that one was not my age.

Point being: I sometimes wonder what it was that prompted me to decide that I was "aging" to the point I could write a blog about it like I knew whereof I speak. I'm still working. I'm not at Medicare age yet, which I think a lot of people would say is the ultimate threshold.  I am eligible for some senior discounts but some I'm still a year or more away from.  What made me think I'm aging?

Well, there's sort of a sad story that I'll relate in time that shook me to my core and really made me ponder the cruel cycle of life and how uncertain it is.  Amy's Ice Cream is right: we need to eat our dessert first (Austinites: do they still say that as their catch phrase?) But that wasn't really it, because that happened a couple of years before.

It wasn't the grey hair thing; that may have been the last straw, but it was percolating before that.

Was it the fact that I realize I'm stuck with the job I have probably until the end of my working days because no one is going to take a flier on a female with no formal degree in her mid-60's?

And don't get me wrong: I'm not saying I'm old.  Nor are you, Dear Reader. It's not that we're old. But I'm conceding that I'm aging. And if you're reading this, maybe you think you are too.

But why do I think I'm aging? Why do you? What is that anyway?

I think for me it was a realization that I'm no longer in total control of my own body. I mean, I suppose it's a fallacy that any of us truly are at any point in life.  The same Peloton coach I mentioned in a recent post had a stroke in his early 30's.  That surely was not something he controlled. But, I mean, and you know that there's a presumption we have in our early adult life that if we don't like something about ourselves we can change it. Think your arms are flabby?  Do strength training and tone them up. Think you need to lose weight? Change your diet, start to exercise and the pounds will come off (I haven't even done the weight blog post yet...but trust me, I will). If you want to go back to school, go. If you want a new job, find it.  We put up with bullshit that maybe we shouldn't because we rely on the fact that when we're ready to change it, we can. There is an infinite amount of potential we possess. 

But at some subtle point I started to realize the "in" disappeared in my potential and now I just have a finite amount. Menopause, as I think I mentioned, was one such tipping point: when I realized it had come and gone, there was just a moment of regret that a door was closing on an important part of my life.  Then the moment was gone, and I was just happy to lock that door and throw away the key. But those moments crop up a lot these days - all the little things I've been posting about that pop up out of nowhere and I can't seem to control.  And trust me, I'm a self-confessed control freak for a reason, so it's making me crazy!  

Which brings me to the next question for all of us to ponder: what is aging gracefully?

Remember the adage, "Never ask a lady her age"?  Well I'm trying to be loud and proud about my age.  Mainly because if I'm anything else, it doesn't change how old I am, so embrace the suck as soldiers say. I see photos of actresses who absolute destroy themselves with cosmetic surgeries and treatments and think to myself that it's better to just let time etch its story on my face than risk that. Then again, I look at Jane Fonda, who looks pretty good for her age and wonder...should I at least do Botox?

I told my husband the other day, my mind is no longer a steel trap. The steel is rusty. (Not sure it ever was to be honest, but you get the gist.) I tire more easily, so there are no more 20 hour workdays because it's not just the body but the mind that just puts the brakes on at some point in the evening. Do I fight that so I can continue to put in the work, or do I let myself relax a little, letting those long, arduous days be history? But if I do, can I be employable?

In short, in all the times I envisioned getting older and how I would accept it and handle it, I never envisioned the many conundrums and decisions it would bring with it.  I'm still navigating that minefield personally and trying to define "graceful aging".  Tell me how you do it.