Huddle down under doona and make fervent atheist prayer that it will all go away. Muffled screaming from husband.
Heavy shapes and stomping feet eventually give up and thunder out of the room. Parting bewildered comment: “I just don’t get grownups some times”.
Drift off to sleep again, to accompaniment of husband’s quiet sobs.
Awaken some time later to more sobs. Daughter is grief stricken over son’s attempt to behead new barbie doll with his new plastic samurai sword. Poke husband viciously in ribs and demand that he deal with son’s violent tendencies. NOW.
Drift off to sleep again.
11:30am: Tentative shaking from husband. “Don’t wish to disturb beauty sleep, but don’t we have to be at your mother’s at noon?” Sarcasm? And self righteousness? Before midday? Inform husband that he is a Bad Man and drag self from bed.
12:45pm: Showered, dressed and relatively coherent, have piled self, husband, offspring and half a tonne of Christmas presents into car and heading off to outer suburbs through swearing, honking, gesticulating traffic.
1:25pm: Arrive at mother’s house. Mother opens door and sniffs disapprovingly at self. “Only an hour and a half late today? It’s improvement, I suppose. Why did you do that to your hair?”
Children pile into house shouting wildly over each other to describe ridiculous pile of presents left for them by Santa. Mother cuddles them adoringly, listens patiently to long explanation of why samurai with swords could take out an armoured tank division and finally turns to greet husband. “You’re wearing that shirt again, did you forget that we dress for lunch on Christmas?”
Husband glares at self and mutters incoherent things. Father comes roaring up hallway clutching glass of whiskey and bestows hugs and drops of whiskey upon all. Mother snorts indignantly, “for God’s sake. We haven’t even had lunch yet”.
House is brimming over with aunts uncles and cousins. Have trouble remembering names of cousin’s children and cousin sniffily takes own children (pointedly addressing them by name) to back yard.
Sister rushes up to self and shoves large glass of wine into hand. “Where have you been? Grandad already told cousin’s children to fuck off twice. Is going to be horror day.” Rushes off to play cricket in back yard with children and uncles.
Husband slouches off to stand next to sister’s boyfriend and exchange moody remarks about self’s family. Look around at family and resist temptation to join them.
Go nervously to greet grandfather. Grandfather glares balefully at self. “Call that a dress? In my day a harlot would be ashamed to call that underwear. (increases volume) Where Jim, he’s a good lad.” Jim was boyfriend before husband, who hung around for a while making a tit of himself. after husband’s appearance. Husband glares balefully at wall.
Sigh and go to offer gravy making services to mother. Massive production of animal roasting going on in kitchen. Am amazed once again by mother’s ability to feed 19 people from kitchen made for 3, as platter after platter of meat, roasted vegetables and dumplings churn out of kitchen. Windows fogging up and room is 38 degrees, despite air-conditioner.
2:45pm: Family all sits down at table, last minute shuffling as cousins and uncles try to avoid sitting next to grandfather who is loudly describing details of his most recent bowel movement. Sister discovers father asleep on the couch and is roundly told by mother to leave him there and give everyone some peace.
Rule in our family is that children must eat lunch before getting presents. Generations of squirming over-excited children have been wriggling at table, asking about presents every 5 minutes, pouting and crying when told that they are being rude and should eat up lovely meal prepared for them.
Mother and aunts who have done most of the cooking are too exhausted to eat. Children are too excited about imminent presents to eat. Sister and cousins too traumatised by family gathering to eat. Uncles, husbands and boyfriends eat happily.
Grandfather still chattering on about bowel movement. Sister steps bravely into the breach and tells him about recent holiday in Queensland. Grandfather settles down and listens to convoluted description of how holiday was interrupted by accidental shellfish poisoning (sister is allergic) that required hospitalisation and 24 hour nursing. As sister finishes comprehensive denouncement of idiot waiters who don’t understand that prawns are shellfish, Grandfather slams fist down on table and roars at top of voice “That’s the problem with all these damn Queenslanders. Riddled with syphilis. Every last one of them.” Then calmly returns to shovelling mashed potato into his mouth.
Cousin’s child enquires in tremulous voice if it is time to open presents yet, as son is overcome by giggles and daughter politely asks husband for definition of syphilis.
3:30pm: Family unanimously decides to give up on lunch and moves collectively toward indignant grandfather’s whiskey bottle. More food than was actually cooked is left on plates and platters and family exchanges pointless gifts of hankies, soap and plastic wine glasses. Children shriek with excitement as they unwrap dozens of plastic pieces of crap from two dollar shop. Grandfather swears sulphurically as uncles and husband get stuck into whiskey bottle before surprising himself and everyone else by suddenly falling asleep at the table. Mother and nearest aunt sit next to husband and reminisce loudly about manifold virtues of Jim and his magnificent shirt-and-tie wearing abilities.
4pm: Afternoon sun is pounding in through windows as mother staggers out of kitchen carrying enormous boiled pudding and drunk uncles demand that brandy custard be heated up. Sister and self open another bottle of wine and talk longingly of orphans with no families. Son and cousin’s snot-nosed child get into fistfight over ownership of plastic crap and cousin starts ranting drunkenly at self about undisciplined children with no manners bullying her poor sensitive boy. Sternly reprimand son for calling poor sensitive boy a poof and drag him outside.
4:45pm: Husband sidles up to self and promises months of uncomplaining housework if we can “get the fuck out of here right fucking now”. Commence endless round of goodbye kisses and promises to see more of cousins, aunts and uncles during the year before making escape, son triumphantly clutching disputed plastic crap and giving poor sensitive boy the finger on way out the door.
5:15pm: Finally pile husband, children and ten tonnes of crappy presents into car and drive through swearing gesticulating traffic back home.
6:30pm: Lie on couch with cold towel on head, wine glass in hand and thank the gods that it only happens once a year.
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|124.181.26.xxx |2010-02-09 02:49:44 Scotty
How on earth did you channel all my memories of Anderson family Christmas? Pure gold.
As a Queenslander I should have been offended by the riddled with Syphillis line but I couldn't help but laugh at how funny it was. Now that I've finally read this I understand that line being used a number of times last night on the bench at KOT.
!joomlacomment 4.0 Copyright (C) 2009 Compojoom.com . All rights reserved."
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