In the Morgan household, we celebrate Christmas. We also celebrate Festivus, a secular, alternative holiday made famous by Seinfeld and the genius of Frank Costanza. Our annual celebration does not include an aluminum pole or feats of strength, but it does very much include the airing of grievances, which we have publicly declared for years.
To be fair to all the Seinfeld fanatics out there, no, our grievances are not about admonishing our loved ones by telling them how much they’ve disappointed us. Rather, our grievances span a multitude of areas. From failure to use turn signals to the PTA, we’ve managed to complain about it all.
Here, you will find my 5 biggest grievances of 2018. Since this blog comes from a place of hope, I’ve decided to keep all of the political horrors we’ve seen unfold in the last year out. Let it be known, however (and to quote Frank), I got a lotta problems with you people. For now though I’ll spare you the details because Christmas. So here we go…
1. Guilt.
I feel guilty all of the time for all of the things.
I feel guilty for saying no. I also feel guilty for saying yes when I could have said no and then bitching about not wanting to do the thing I said yes to doing.
I feel guilty about not working enough and for working too much. I feel guilty for taking naps and for the hours of “me time” required weekly to keep me functioning on a daily basis
I feel guilty about not planning more play dates for my son. I feel guilty about letting him watch too much TV and for not getting him involved in more extracurricular activities, too.
I feel guilty about not having made plans with people I haven’t seen in awhile and for sometimes breaking those plans when I do. Then, when I follow through with the plans I made, I feel guilty for not spending enough time with my family.
I feel guilty for not putting more into savings and for spending too much on things like concert tickets and furniture and shoes.
When it comes to social media and my incessant need to scroll through my newsfeeds, I now feel guilty for an entire host of things I never thought I could possibly feel guilty about. I feel guilty for not taking family photos, for not running mini marathons and family fun runs, and for my complete lack of interest in running altogether. I feel guilty for not donating to a friend’s GoFundMe cause, for both speaking out against political atrocities and for not saying enough. I feel guilty about the lack of Christmas presents I buy each year, about not wishing a former acquaintance a happy birthday, and for thinking someone is a complete moron when she doesn’t use the correct form of “there” in a sentence. I feel guilty for not wanting to build a new home and for not remodeling my kitchen, for not posting enough photos of my kid and then for posting too many. I feel guilty for having very little interest in ever returning to Disney World, and for forgetting to pray for someone when I said I would.
Out of all my grievances, it’s you, guilt, I hate the most.
2. Acts of kindness done to boost one’s own self-esteem.
Years ago, I posted a story on Facebook about buying a somber, disheveled older man an ice cream cone at the gas station. He was standing behind me in line and had appeared to have wet himself. He had been rooting around in his pockets for change so I bought him the ice cream he came in for. Then I promptly took to Facebook to share my act of kindness with the world. I think I remember accompanying the story with some message about always being kind and someone always having it worse than you or some other self-appreciating bullshit. And while I’d like to think the act itself was done out of kindness, taking to the Book and bragging about it made it icky and self-aggrandizing and almost null and void. Yes, the man benefitted from the gesture, but was it really an act of kindness when in the end I did it for myself?
I’ve thought a lot about this grievance because I hear a lot of stories from people about their good deeds. I also hear about how mad they become when their good deed goes unnoticed (i.e., the beneficiary of said good deed failed to say “thank you”) or how upset they are when the gift is used for something unintended by the gifter (i.e., “they spent the money I donated on a family vacation instead of medical bills”).
Here’s what I’ve learned about acts of kindness: once you’ve committed to being kind, it is your responsibility to walk away and let the universe run its course. And while you’re still allowed to tell your momma (even as grown ass adults, we still want to tell our mommas about all the nice things we do), your kindness is lessened significantly when you brag about it to friends, post about it on social media, become disappointed by a reaction, or attempt to dictate the outcome. Your kindness is not your story to tell and the result is not your cross to bear. Lock up your kindness, kids, and keep it moving.
3. “A lot” written as one word.
Look, it’s not an option to write a lot as one word; there’s no clause that says it’s acceptable either way. It is two words: A lot. See that space between the “a” and the “lot?” Two words. Not one. No exceptions. I will forever judge anyone who writes it as one word then moves along while the red squiggle underneath screams, IT’S TWO WORDS! You do not know better than the red squiggle (at least not in this instance), so please write it correctly so I can stop feeling guilty about judging your incompetence.
4. Orthodontists
I’m pretty sure one of the things taught to the future orthodontists of America is how to be as demeaning, authoritative, and pompous as possible to the parents of young patients. Also, from experience, I think they are taught how to unnecessarily unbutton the top two buttons of their collared shirts to make you feel as uncomfortable as you are infuriated. My first orthodontist as a pre-teen wore his collared shirt open to reveal a patch of auburn gray chest hair and a gold chain with a sailboat charm. Gross. This same man botched an oral surgery he insisted I have, causing me pain I can only compare to childbirth. I don’t remember his name, but I still regret not taking a handful of that chest hair and ripping it out just like he ripped out the chain attached to an embedded tooth that caused me to have the surgery a second time.
Our current dentist (I’ve actually always had pretty good experience with dentists) recently recommended I take my 6-year-old to an orthodontist to discuss spacers for his bottom teeth. I agreed and took my Van to a consultation. Sure enough, when the orthodontist came in, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone and I thought to myself, here we go.
He didn’t even look at Van. Rather, because I indicated to the nurse that Van “sometimes” sleeps with his mouth open, he proceeded to tell me how wrong Van’s pediatrician and psychologist were at diagnosing Van’s behavioral problems and that he probably has sleep apnea, which is the cure to all that’s been ailing my boy’s progress since, well, birth. I eventually got him to admit he is not a physician and does not know my son’s medical history, but he wouldn’t budge on the sleep apnea or the fact that we were all misguiding sweet Van. Again, he did all this without ever acknowledging Van was even in the room.
As we walked out I said to Van, “You know, kid, the nice thing about having good insurance is that you don’t have to continue seeing someone who talks down to you or questions your judgment as a parent or person.”
So while I’m not sure I’ll ever meet an orthodontist without a swatch of chest hair begging to be pulled or an attitude as assured and arrogant as a petulant teenager, I do know I can at least try to find him or her. And when I do, that’s the person I’ll choose to pay thousands upon thousands of dollars to for my child’s orthodontia.
5. Failure to RSVP
This is one I’m pretty sure we all bitch about yet still often fail to do.
Why exactly is this concept so hard? And more importantly, why do we expect others to RSVP for our garbage but continuously disregard a commitment to theirs? It seems to me that RSVPing for things is the one area in life when humans feel completely comfortable ignoring the golden rule. Yeah sure, I’ll totally sign up to bring you dinner after you’ve had your first child just like you did for me, but no fucking way am I RSVPing for your baby shower.
I often find myself putting the blame of failing to RSVP on women as if men have no idea how this decades old tradition works. What’s this, a card with a stamp? And I’m supposed to return it? With my name? And I have to check a box for yes or no? Preposterous.
This past summer we were invited to two of Rod’s cousins’ weddings, neither of which we were able to attend. Since it’s his family, I left it up to him to return the RSVP cards. Now do you think, even as a postal carrier with no semblance of an excuse for not being near a mailbox (or 5,000) daily that he did? Nope. No RSVP cards were returned and soon thereafter the mother of one of the brides unfriended me on Facebook. Who knows whether the timing was related. I’m awfully outspoken and unapologetic about what I post online, so it could have very well been something brazen I shared that she disagreed with, but I’m still going to chalk it up to the fact that an RSVP was never returned for her daughter’s wedding and, instead of blaming my husband, she blamed me. Unless of course she simply unfriended me for using the word fuck in too many posts. Whatever.
Regardless, guys (and gals), let’s start making it a habit of RSVPing to things in the New Year. Call, text, email, or mail in your reply because it’s the right thing to do and because you will inevitably make your Mom proud. So do it for her and for your friends and for all the people you expect to do the same thing for you.
Cheers, friends. May all of your Christmas wishes come true and may all of your Festivus grievances be resolved. Stay well.
