Mommy Wants Vodka

…Or A Mail-Order Bride

Oh, There’s No Place Like Home For The Holidays?


Anyone who has had to bear the burden of being married or in a long term relationship has inexplicably been stuck in the same predicament year after year. Who gets you for the holidays or any other day of the year that your family may deem IMPERATIVE that you be home.

I have been blessed with both in-laws and a family who do not become angry if I am unable to make a particular holiday. Neither of us gets outright YELLED at or threatened to be written out of a will or two. No, they’re MUCH more subtle than that. I’ve experienced the passive aggressive, sullen and disheartened, “Well, ooooookkkkkay, I GUESS it’s OKAY if you don’t make it. Your BROTHER would have made it.”

The Daver deals with the same stuff.

And I have to be honest, I ADORE the holidays.

It’s the most wonderful motherfucking time of the year, after all. There is nothing more magical than the Christmas season, aside from maybe a freshly shorn nutbag, but I digress. The lights, the smells, the sounds, the bells, I love it all. I love shopping for gifts, I love decorating for the holidays; I love that magical first snow of the year.

And I admit that I even love seeing my family and my in-laws. I adore both sides of our family; and I love seeing them for the holidays.

As usual, there is a catch: both sets of parents EXPECT that they are the most important members of the family,and are therefore entitled to certain unalienable privileges. Most of those being our time WHENEVER THEY WANT US TO for the holidays. It isn’t as though I don’t want to see them; I do.

But I can’t say that I enjoy my holidays spent in the car going from one place to another. Although traveling isn’t a problem for us; we like to get going as much as the next person. But spending 7+ hours a day in a car with a small child for a couple of hours with each set of families is going pretty far beyond what anyone else in the famil(ies) do.

It only compounds matters exponentially that my parents, living about 1 hour from us, see us far more than Dave’s do, living 3+ hours from us (although, by some untapped miracle Dave claims that it only takes an hour and a half. Aside from teleportation, I have no idea how he gets there with such speed), which makes us feel bad. This, in turn makes us try to bend over literally downward facing dog AND the tree trying to appease whatever holiday requests they ask of us.

But no matter how much we break our backs for the families, no one else will meet us halfway. We get no”Well you came out by us last time, now it’s our turn.” If we cannot attend a gathering, there will be no offer to see us or come out to our house at a rescheduled date. Which would explain why I found a couple of little gifts I had picked up for my in-laws LAST YEAR in my vanity. Just SHAMEFUL.

Let’s compound things once again: I have a child whose father is not Dave, and said father wants to see his child on the holidays, too. So Dave, Ben and I are stuck grappling with the seemingly senseless fragments of 3 timetables from 3 families.

We have to make it to cities, W, X, Y and Z in a matter of 1.5 days. These cities are 1-4 hours apart. So we could alternate the cities based on a number of factors (If we leave for W at 6pm after work, get there at 9, stay til 6am drive 4 hours, arrive at 10:30, open gifts, smile, laugh, eat, leave at 1pm if Ben has had nap, drive another hour, drive an hour back, open more presnets, better not nap b/c you’ll look like you’re not having fun, drive 1.5 hours home, utterly exhausted), but it essentially boils down to extra travelling time for us, but not for anyone else.

Here’s my resolution, dear Internet, next year this foolishness will be done, and we won’t exhaust ourselves traveling multiple hours in the car just to appease everyone for the holidays.

Next year, we’re embracing the “N” word.

The Great Pumpkin Queen


I had the worst possible experience this past Sunday when I attempted to show my son that his father is a worthwhile human being by going to Sonny Acres to pick out pumpkins together. What should have been a reasonably (you’re lying through your teeth, Becky, you were dreading this from the moment it was planned) fun time quickly turned into a nightmare.

The Ex, being pissed that I didn’t want to carve pumpkins that day, decided that NO ONE needed pumpkins so we had to leave. Sonny Acres isn’t exactly my thing anyway, so I didn’t protest too much. Besides, I figured Dave and I were taking Ben this Saturday with his future wife, Rose. We’d get some pumpkins then.

Now, to those who know me well, I do whatever I possibly can to get as much stuff as I can when I go out with Nat. Childish, perhaps, but it makes my ickle heart sing as I consider it payback for years of being so goddamn cheap.

So we go to catch lunch together at Olive Garden, per Ben’s request. Lunch quickly becomes a Jerry Springer episode when Nat calls me “the most selfish person in the world,” berates me for being unstable and screams that I’m “ruining my son’s life.”All this, right in front of our son.

Because THAT isn’t gonna fuck up a kid or something. He doesn’t care though, because it’s more important to Nat to be right and to cut me down than it is to take into account the eyeballs of his son watching his every move.

Although the food has just arrived, I made a tactical call. I stood up, kissed Ben goodbye and turned to leave. Nat pulls on my arms to get me to stay and I begin to cry. I quickly said goodbye to my son and walk out of the restaurant sobbing like a little bitch.

After bawling in front of the restaurant like a crazy person I decide that since Ben is upset and I am his mother, I need to go back inside and comfort him. When I went back inside and found Ben hysterical I informed Nat that I was taking my son home, where he belonged.

We paid the bill and EVERYONE IN THE ENTIRE PLACE IS STARING AT US which makes me feel like an even bigger freak than I know I am. Awesome.

I strapped Ben into my car, safely out of earshot and gave Nat a piece of my mind, while he stood there, silently reproachful and apologetic. The anger drained out of him and into me and I drove away angry and sad.

I haven’t spoken to him since.

Tonight my dad called to me from the porch show me the freak show. My porch is the proud recipient of two brand new pumpkins.

Fucking weirdo.

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