Trouble in a red dress

Flipping through the channels on a recent sleepless night, I stumbled across a particularly interesting episode of "Whose Wedding Is It Anyway?"

A young couple from Pennsylvania was planning their marriage, but family problems got in the way.

Groom and brother/best man couldn't get along. The groom was devastated when it came down to this: His brother wouldn't stand for him on his wedding day. He was moved to sobbing; I felt for him.

Then, the groom's mother wouldn't cooperate with the bride's wishes in terms of attire.

Huh? I thought, this bride needs to get over it. Dresses aren't important enough to get upset about.

Then I saw the dress -- red and vampy. And heard the mother-in-law say she was so happy about her son getting married, she wanted to pretend it was her day -- and that she was the bride.

Granted, that dress looked spectacular. And the mother-in-law was a bubbly hoot, it seemed. (At least the editing made it look so.) But there's being happy for your child's good fortune, and there's taking the spotlight when you really shouldn't.

The bride decided to let it ride. And, come wedding day, everyone was happy. Groom and brother made up; the guests smiled graciously as mother-in-law made the rounds; bride was beautiful.

But I hope that red dress wasn't a harbinger of serious family relationships issues to come. I wouldn't place any bets on it.

Sick, tired and struggling

With flu season winding down, and seasonal allergies just starting to muck things up, I have begun to contemplate the implications of "in sickness and in health."

And, with a husband knocked down by flu and/or food poisoning, a daughter wrestling with a head cold that defines "snot-nosed kid," and a son whose allergy-related coughs lead to gagging that results in heaves, I'm not sure I'm cut out for the "in sickness" part of marriage and family at the moment.

It could be because I'm a leave-me-alone-until-I'm-better kind of sick person, and no one else in my family is. Maybe it's that I still haven't caught up on my sleep after spending spring break week wedged in a double bed between two bunkmates younger than 5. (Heel to the neck at midnight, anyone?) Whatever the reason, I've found myself breathing deeply and counting to 10 quite a bit before responding to my sick family's requests (whines) and needs (demands).

The pitiful countdown:

10. Please, please, please don't say "Mommy" again for 15 minutes.

9. That goes for "Mama" and the two-syllable "Mom," too.

8. Oh, that my husband would miraculously rise from his sick bed well -- and ready to engage in tag-team parenting again.

7. Please.

6. Who needs a stair-stepper? I have a two-story house and three reasons to trudge up and down all day long.

5. Only eight (Or 10. Or 12.) hours till bedtime.

4. This, too, shall pass.

3. This, too, shall pass.

2. This, too, shall pass.

1. Eyes closed. Deep breath in. Eyes open. Deep breath out.

I vow to get through spring sickness. If only I could guarantee no one in my family will get a summer cold.

What you remember, what you don't

While her husband was out of town last weekend, my sister and her two children stayed at my mom's for a few days.

It gave my sister a few days of help and relief from playing single parent, and it gave my niece ample opportunities for playing "hairdresser" with two grownup women.

Which led to my mother brushing my sister's hair for the first time in several decades.

Which led to my sister remarking how nice it was that Mom wasn't rapping her atop the head with the brush because she wasn't sitting still.

They both cracked up laughing, as I did when my sister told me the story. Mom was a little stressed back then, and she didn't always have patience for a wiggling kid.

But I also was a little surprised that I hadn't remembered Mom doing that.

Isn't funny what you remember of your childhood, and which memories you leave behind?

I remember dancing and singing all the words to the Beatles' "Hello, Goodbye" with my siblings -- so much so, I gave them copies of a Beatles compilation a few years ago.

They didn't have that happy memory at all.

My brother is convinced I was the one to wrap him up with the ribbon from a broken cassette tape and smear his face with peanut butter, even though my sister has explained she and her friend Kelly did it. I was the one telling them to stop.

And my sister remembers the hairbrush.

A few weeks ago, someone asked me what I recalled of how my parents punished us when we acted up.

I couldn't remember a thing to mention. I know there had to be something -- my mother could stop us in our tracks with a look when we were kids.

My sister reminded me of a few things when I asked her the same question.

But I guess I have left those memories in the past.

Keeping it mum with mom and dad

So it's a month past Christmas and New Year's, and I think I've finally caught up with all of the friends and coworkers I hadn't seen since trips here and there to visit families.

I've heard all the war stories from holiday break -- and many seem to carry the same theme, which leaves me with the question:

Which details about your relationship should you share with your parents (mostly your mother)? And which you should leave out for their own good?

The stories I heard all went something like this: My sister/friend/sister-in-law/cousin told my mom about a disagreement/split/other issue with her boyfriend/husband, and then mom was caught up in the drama for the entire visit. And, more often than not, the issue was resolved independent of mom's and dad's fretting -- because it really wasn't that serious after all or because the sister/friend/sister-in-law/cousin had it under control ... and could actually work through the problem without dragging the whole family into it.

So holiday visits across the country were sent into a tailspin for no good reason.

Which leads me to ask these three little things of family drama instigators everywhere:

-- Don't say the word "divorce" to mom and dad if you don't really want it to happen -- or think it's going to happen.

-- Be careful about telling your parents about every little thing your dear one does (either on purpose or unintentionally) to annoy you. Your parents will grow to dislike him. Do you really want that?

-- When you get the urge to call mom to complain about your relationship, call a trusted third party (friend, sibling, sibling-in-law) to unload. Then, call mom and dad if you feel you still need feedback or comfort.

Your parents love you. Which means that, if you hurt, they hurt. If you lead your mom to believe your life is falling apart, she's going to fret and worry. Her blood pressure is going to rise. She will lose sleep. Please, only inflict that stress on her (and the rest of the family, by extension) when you really need their help through a tough time.

'Gimme shelter' may strain relationships

Since we're talking about boundaries (and I vote for Alicia stashing her toothbrush in the medicine cabinet because I, too, am icked out), here's a pretty timely one: people who invite themselves to stay at your house.

NPR's "Talk of the Nation" did an interesting segment on this topic because of the crush of people expected to pour into Washington, D.C., in the next few days for Barack Obama's inauguration. D.C.-based writer Veronica Miller was on the show to talk about all the folks who announced they were coming to her place for the festivities. Miller and her roommate share a tiny two-bedroom basement apartment, and they've agreed to let three people stay with them. Even so, the aunt of Miller's roommate proclaimed that she would be "stopping by" on Inauguration Day. With five people.

The roommate promptly proclaimed that NO, she would not be stopping by. There's no more room in the inn. Kudos to her for not giving in to her pushy aunt.

I admit that I was briefly guilty of this crime. I have a friend who is temporarily living with his friends in D.C. Caught up in the excitement, the day after the election I texted him about crashing at his friend's place for the inauguration. Within five minutes I was texting him back, begging him to forget my request. I realized the serious social faux pas I was committing.

This is a matter of respect. It's just not right to force your desires on other people, especially when it's something as intimate as sharing their living space. Even if you are family, when you stay at someone else's home, you are their guest. They are opening their homes to you. They do not have to do this.

And yet, in the last few months, folks who live anywhere near D.C. have found themselves flooded with calls, e-mails and texts from shameless people they haven't heard from in years, wanting shelter. People who live in desirable locations -- near beaches or shopping/entertainment meccas, or in other countries -- are probably used to random "friends" inviting themselves to stay for free.

Here's a tip: those three people wedged into Veronica Miller's D.C. apartment? They asked. Don't assume, don't insinuate, don't demand. And don't be surprised or hurt if you're told no. But if you're told yes, be prepared to be the best house guest ever.

A card, to say you care

I have friends I haven't talked to in months. You know what it's like -- you mean to send an e-mail. You mean to call. But time slips away, and before you know it, the end of the year draws near. And if you're like me, when December rolls around you find yourself driving to the post office with a stack of holiday cards sliding around on the passenger seat.

I'm not one to get too excited about holidays -- you work enough of them, the magic fades -- but this is the time of year when I look forward to checking my mail. There's just something about spotting a bright green or red envelope mixed in with the bills and magazines. No matter how bad my day has been, it's hard to stay grumpy when you open a goofy card from a person you haven't heard from in ages, or you view a friend's family portrait with cute kids growing up impossibly fast.

The holiday card is the great equalizer. It says, "I know we haven't talked, but that doesn't mean I don't care." It says, "In the midst of all the shopping-eating-family drama frenzy, I took a moment to think of you, and wanted to let you know." It says, "We're family."

It's sort of the renewal of a vow: you stay in my life, and I'll stay in yours.

If you left, what would you take?

While I was out for a walk today I listened to a podcast of NPR's "Fresh Air," featuring an interview with Rhett Miller, singer and songwriter for the band Old 97's.

During the interview, host Terry Gross asked Miller to recall his experiences on Sept. 11, 2001. Miller and his wife lived only a couple blocks from the Twin Towers in New York. Miller described going up to his apartment building's rooftop and seeing the first tower on fire, and people falling from above. He and his wife rushed back down to their apartment, only to be engulfed in smoke when that building fell. They managed to get away just before the second building fell, then, two months later, were allowed back into their apartment for five minutes as a National Guardsman watched from the doorway, machine gun in hand. Miller described his wife standing their closet holding six or seven pairs of high heels, crying. She was overwhelmed, and couldn't decide which pairs to take. Miller reminded her there was a man with a gun waiting on them and grabbed his guitar.

The interview got me thinking: If I had to leave my house in a hurry, what would I take? The first two things that popped into my mind were my cat, which didn't surprise me, and my passport, which did. But then it didn't. There are family keepsakes I would mourn the loss of, but most items -- clothes, furniture, etc. -- can be replaced. I've never really been big on collecting photographs or souvenirs; memories of life experiences are more important to me. So the gut reaction of grabbing my passport reinforces how important the ability to travel and gather more life experiences is to me.

What about you? If you had to leave NOW, other than your purse/wallet and family members, what would you take with you?

My parting words for my first blog

Not all families are as close as mine. So I fully understand when I hear a daughter or a spouse leave a loved one and the farewell consists of a simple "see ya later," or perhaps "adios."

But, what if by some unfortunate circumstance, your loved one doesn’t live another day and the final words resounding in your head are, "Yo, holla at ya later, Ma"?

Love is a touchy subject. Some people live their entire lives never hearing the "L" word uttered from their parents' lips. How sad and how hollow a feeling that must be.

I learned at a young age to always say "I love you" (ILY) because I never knew when or if I would talk with that person again. Parting words are the fossils we leave behind.

But what if the big ILY is too mushy for your spouse to say front of his co-workers? You know what I’m talking about, ladies. You call your husband at work. He’s in a cubicle surrounded by big, burly, ball-scratching men. You say ILY and he mumbles a Neanderthal-like response, then quickly hangs up and tries to appear as though the entire conversation never took place for fear of severance from future male bonding.

At first, you think it’s your cell phone service breaking up. Then, you realize. He’s just a big wuss. Saying ILY in front of his buds is too sensitive. Fine. So what’s the answer?

Find another endearing phrase that lets others know what they mean to you. Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore found theirs in "Ghost" -- "ditto," and I say that works. So does "Hey, me too."

Do you and your loved ones have alternative phrases that stand in place for ILY? Should our spouses just suck it up and say the mushy words out loud – co-workers or no co-workers around?

I feel like we don’t put enough importance on telling others how much we care, even if we’re at work in tight quarters with hairy jocks as co-workers. So, stay classy Charlotte.
I love you.