No Thank You, Thanksgiving – What a Monumental Let Down

I tried. I really did. I actually wanted to spend time with my mother. We had such a lovely time in Guatemala, I was hoping to keep that momentum going. I was living in a fool’s paradise. What is there to be thankful for this Thanksgiving?

Pre-Holiday Harassment

Every year, my mother starts bugging me about my plans for any big holidays about a month in advance. Labor Day, Memorial Day, 4th of July… you get the picture. So it was par for the course that before Halloween, my mother is asking me what I am going to do for Thanksgiving.

For most, this would be a simple easy answer. For me, it is a complication of post-divorce life decision, work/life balance, and risking ruining a day because my mother/brother are a lot to take on a regular day. So I wing it. Depends on how I am feeling.

This year, I was riding high in the success of our trip to Guatemala. Of having set out to spend 12 days with my mother and coming out the other side alive. It was a feat of the ages. When she wasn’t nagging me, because she was focused on other things, she is tolerable. I figured, what could it hurt?

So I tentatively told her we could get together. With one caveat: that we only spend part of the day together, and that we not make a big production out of it. Reason being that after my trip, I had to quarantine for 14 days per CDC guidelines which meant that I had burned through all my vacation and sick time. I had no time left to spare, and had to work every minute leading up to November 26 and consequently, every day after.

I wasn’t going to have time to slave away making 12 course meals and cleaning and all that. It was going to be simple food, simple gathering, limited timespan.

My first mistake…

I forged ahead with this foolproof plan.

Two days before Thanksgiving, a tornado hit the city by my job. I had left work early in anticipation of the storm because I hated driving my tiny car in the rain. I feel like it’s going to pull a Dorothy and land me in Kansas with every stiff wind.

The storm that ripped by work, turned north and that night, in the middle of watching Netflix in the living room, all the power went out. When it was restored, everything came back on except my internet.

I hate Frontier with a passion. It never fails that if something trips the power for even a second, I have to call a technician to “fix” my fucking internet. How is a person supposed to live in this day and age without Internet? It’s unconstitutional.

It was looking like Thanksgiving was going to be internet-free. The following day, I called Frontier from work and set up an appointment for a technician to show up on Thanksgiving day. (OMG imagine the overtime! I am clearly in the wrong profession)

I sent my mother and brother a text message letting them know that the internet is out at my house because of the storm, but no worries! We are going old school and watching my DVDs. I leave work a little later than expected on Wednesday night, but I begin my preparation for the special dish I am making.

Since my trip to Guatemala, I have taken a larger interest in celebrating my Latina roots. In turn, I decided that a Hispanic dish for Thanksgiving was more in tune than the pilgrim’s passage of turkey, mashed potatoes and corn. Hence the pre-Thanksgiving preparation because the dish required Sofrito which is best made in advance.

Once that labor of love was complete, and the kitchen squared away for Thursday, I went to bed.

Thanksgiving is here with a bang.

The next morning, I am jostled awake by the police pounding at my door. It wasn’t the police. It was just the technician early, which was a good thing. I had missed his call and text letting me know he was trying to knock appointments out earlier. I am not going to stop him. So I opened the door.

35 minutes later, my internet is back online after he replaced the water-logged hardware, and I send my family a text with the good news.

I begin cooking, motivated to keep the good vibes going from this unexpected win. 30 minutes later, it occurs to me that my text could have been misconstrued by the giant sloth amalgam that is my brother and mother, so I follow up with another text encouraging them to get their asses in gear.

If I hadn’t been so busy cooking and having a good time in the kitchen, I may have paid more attention to what my brother had written.

My brother is the worst.

He is the worst when it comes to getting ready. He is slow. He is pedantic. He is self-centered and not self-aware. My mother enables him and when she wants something, she will let him get his way if she thinks it will win her favor with him, especially if they had been fighting. Who knows what the fuck was going on over at their place? Because the next thing I know, it is hours later.

I imagined that maybe they stopped at a grocery store at the last minute. Not smart. They’ve done it before to get something they had forgotten. I was not keen on them being so late, but if they were making an effort, it was what it was.

So I sent another message because almost two hours later, they still haven’t shown up, nor have they sent me any messages or calls to explain the delay.

Turns out, my brother had been fucking around on his computer. Was it work-related, not work-related? I don’t know and at this point, I don’t fucking care.

They didn’t bother letting me know. They didn’t send a message saying they had gotten held up. They just left me here waiting on them, knowing goddamned well I wanted to have the rest of the day after 5pm to myself to unwind and prep for the coming days at work.

I told them not to show up. What’s the fucking point?

They showed up anyway 40 minutes after I sent the text telling them not to come. They live 10 minutes away. I didn’t open the door. They stood there knocking and texting me that they were there.

I told them to go away and go home. My mother was like, but we’re here now, open the door and we can still eat and then we will leave. What for? So I can stare at you and be pissed off as I watch you eat the food I cooked? So I can have an awkward Thanksgiving in my own home?

Thanks, but no thanks.

With family like that, why even get together for the holidays? My sons were upset. They were made to feel awkward in their own home as my crazy mother and brother knocked on the door of a home that they clearly had been uninvited to.

They finally left my driveway and returned from whence they came.

They did not send any additional messages, they did not call to apologize. Why would they?

I blame my brother for being a slow colossal asshat. I blame my mother for choosing him over me. She could have sent a message. I would have gone to pick her up. It’s clear that he manipulated the situation in his favor. She doesn’t drive, he would have been her ride to my house. Maybe he didn’t want to come over? Who knows.

What I do know is that there will be no more attempts to reconcile. This is literally the fucking Grand Canyon all over again.