We have been at my MILs since Christmas Eve ... and nobody has killed anyone yet. It's a fricken miracle. I have *finally* realised the trick of surviving in this house ... expect a terrible time. Expect a really shit, annoying, terrible time, and anything better than that is a bonus. We are all going really well. Which has been kind of disconcerting to me. I am not used to it. We opened presents and then took the boys to the beach on Christmas morning - nobody else was there. We had it all to ourselves.
This is the sandcrab that Dave caught, I managed to snap a photo before Rocco came over and punched it, then stomped on it. It survived and ran onto my leg and I screamed - crabs are WAY too similar to spiders for my liking.
Max pretending to be sad. But he's not - he's staying up late every night, eating too much chocolate, and counting down the days until we drive further north to a cabin. (Nothing fancy, it's in a caravan park. I have packed my Bingo markers ..... I am ADDICTED to Bingo when we come up here.)
Oh Rocco. He is the boss of us all. Dave keeps telling me that he was this blonde when he was Rocco's age, which is a crock of shit. He has this habit of making up his own reality and believing it, therefore it is my mission to set him straight on things. So I innocently asked my MIL what colour hair Dave had when he was small. "Brown." HA. I ran into the loungeroom. "IN YOUR FACE. YOU HAD BROWN HAIR I ASKED YOUR MUM." I didn't realise she was right behind me .... she will always, always take Dave's side in anything. "Oh, actually, he did have some blonde. Yes. Yes it was blonde." Dave was smirking, I wrinkled my nose in disdain, mouthing "BROWN!" .. to him as I walked off.
Here he is frowning at the beach on Christmas Day. See that ridiculous tattoo on his arm? It's a lion. SO DUMB. It appears to be jumping out of a hole in his skin. At least once a month for almost ten years now, I have turned to him and feigned surprise and said "Ohhhhhh, wow! It looks like that lion is jumping out of your arm! WOW."
Here is my Widdle Timmy. He now gets so irritated at me taking photos of myself in stupid poses that he's started doing it on my camera to get me back.
Have I not taught him The Ways of the Wanker? I'm so proud.
I was telling my sister what a great time I'm having. My sisters always laugh at me coming up here, because it is beyond dysfunctional. I'm even washing up every night -usually I just come and sit down with the guys, as my MIL has a "no men allowed in the kitchen policy."
Which just leaves, you know, ME ..... but, I thought I'd actually make the effort to get on with her this year. My goodness she has responded. I can be a real bitch, but in laying down my weapons, I'm finding she is doing the same. Who knew?
So I was raving on to my sister how great I feel, and she said wow, those happy pills do the trick eh?
And I thought oh fuck, am I actually having a good Christmas this year or is it all false? WTF? Apparently I can never go off these even keel happy pills until I'm 90. By then, I'll deserve to be a crusty, angry, viscious pyscho bitch.
I thought of last years Christmas, which included a particularly nasty argument with Dave on Christmas Eve about wrapping paper.
"YOU NEED DIFFERENT WRAPPING PAPER FOR THE FUCKING SANTA PRESENTS! YOU CAN'T USE THE SAME FUCKING PATTERNED PAPER OR THEY WILL KNOW SANTA ISN'T REAL."
"Santa ISN'T fucking real. WHY SHOULD SANTA GET ALL THE FUCKING CREDIT WHEN I PAID FOR THEM ALL???"
I pondered this strange, peaceful state this Christmas.
I was so happy in that moment I could burst. Grateful and happy and peaceful and content and full of love.
And then this morning, Dave got up and left to go to the beach AGAIN, for his "time out." And woke Rocco up AGAIN before he left so I had to get up at 6am and mind Rocco. Then Dave came back three hours later, said he was tired, and went to SLEEP.
I was beyond irritated. We had an argument, and I have had a really shitty, annoying day.
THANK GOD. I *am* still real. I am alive.
Apparently anti-anxiety medication cannot stop the fact that your husband can be a real arsehole and piss on your good mood.
Dave asked Tim a while back to find out what I wanted for Christmas. "Ok, what I *don't* want is a SAT-NAV for my car. I know I need one, but I want something for Christmas that's personal and maybe pampering. Please."
Tim mocked me, but said sure, no worries.
I carefully choose presents for all the boys - mountains of wrapped, thoughtful presents. On Christmas morning, Dave looked at Tim and Tim looked at Dave.
"Ummm, where's Edens present??" "You had it." "No I didn't, you had it."
I was annoyed, but enjoyed watching them squirm. If they didn't find it, I was going to have SO much mileage out of it. They found it, in some random bag. I opened it.
It was a SAT-NAV.
Dave had another present for me. I opened it and cried.
He had the school photo of me in Fiji blown up and framed. He said he loves it, thinks it's so exotic. And funny, that I stand out like dogs balls because I'm the only one with red hair.
Later that night, I realised why I cried - Dave is the only person who really "sees me" as a child.
I love him ..... crap lion tattoo especially.
I hope you are managing your holiday season ok. I hope nobody got a fucking SAT-NAV. (Bo-ring).
..... a lot of you are in winter, so I apologise for the beach snaps. (Such a strange concept, to have Christmas in the cold!)