Damn. Ran into that self-titled poem by Molly Brodak again. I love the feeling of coming across a poem I had loved and forgotten about. The ending is such a kicker: 

This is love.
It is a mass of ice
melting, I can’t hold
it and I have nowhere
to put it down.

It's such a strong couple lines. I went ahead and bought the book so I wouldn't forget about it again. 

*

From love to wrath. Isn't this blog a fun roller coaster? I just need to vent a little bit before I go away with the family for this weekend, simmering with familial resentment, let my bad attitude blow up out of proportion, and say something I'm going to regret. 

So my mom is turning 60. I wanted to do something big to make her feel good about it because it's a big deal, but also because I knew no one else in the family would make the least amount of effort - my dad because he is perennially useless when called upon to play roles like father and husband (he literally argued that he didn't need to get her a gift because the gift was his presence at the event I have planned and paid for) and my brother, who isn't doing anything for reasons unclear to me. Maybe he is busy buying boats and investment properties. 

Naturally, I spent more than I could afford on a hot tub cabin for the family, a riverfront rental property which my mom has done nothing but complain about despite not having even laid eyes on the place yet. I love my mom so much, but she's very picky about food and drinks, emotionally connected to specific rituals (when I go to the beach with her and her friends, there's literally a dress code associated with certain days) and has been in a terrible mood the last few months about how she never gets what she wants and never does anything fun. While in part this trip is an effort to make her feel that she does do fun things, instead it's seemingly given the whole event really high stakes/expectations and for her, the sense that it will inevitably be doomed. She's going into it already disappointed and resentful toward me that I didn't book this 200+ dollar a night place into Monday night, even though it wasn't available Monday, which she doesn't seem to believe. 

Anyway, all week, I've been scurrying around like a frantic little rat daughter, trying to get the specific ingredients for the special, time-intensive dinner she wants, pick out particularly expensive bottles of wine and cheeses for the "firepit cheese plate" portion of the event, and having a series of conversations with her where I say for the eleventh time "yes, there is a coffee maker there, no, we don't need to bring an extra one 'in case the one there is broken because the place is junky'". Or "I bet the hot tub is broken." Why would you expect that to be the case ahead of time?!

And let it be said, I am so grateful that I have the means to do something like this, absurdly lucky that I have a great mom who made it to 60 and is fun to celebrate with, and frankly, this is the kind of work that I'm really good at. I like being the person who you can probably count on having candles, a bottle of claret, and a brick of haloumi cheese in her bag. I am, as you may have noticed, bossy! And controlling! And all these things mean that organizing events like this is something I would probably butt into even if literally no one else in my family was going to do any work on it. 

I just guess I've been so annoyed with the narrative in my family, my mom always telling me to my face that I'm "the kid she doesn't worry about" while making these passive aggressive remarks comparing me to my holy brother, "oh we'll have to move to his area when we retire because you're going to be too busy to take care of us," and her general perception that I'm totally fine, I'm always just soo busy having fun with my great life, I'm a fucking cool cucumber who nothing hurts, and all the hard and sad stuff in my life just rolls off me like oil. 

That is SUCH a mixed up metaphor; god, I'm sorry, I must really be upset if I'm writing such terrible sentences! It's kind of all the same shit I was talking about last month, feeling like my actual self or pain or fuck-uppedness is invisible around some of my friends, especially the ones in the know last winter, in favor of a comfortable, fake, fun persona. But that's a lot to get back into, and maybe I don't always need to go so wide with these things. 

So. I texted my brother and gave him the direction that he is in charge of the cake. That is one high pressure thing off my list and will give me time to run around tomorrow picking up the bread and pastries she wanted. Look at me, being direct. 

Okay, I actually do feel a little better for writing out all that complaining. Boo hoo, I have to go to a nice cabin with my mostly-very-fun family. What an ungrateful bitch! It'll be fine. Luray is nice. I will take a pretty picture of the Shenandoah for my instagram. I will make a nice fire.