I’m not going to let this develop into a row, but … I mean, we’ve taken the long drive down to her place every year since the kids were little. I know Margaret’s getting on, but she talks incessantly and blathers about the doings of her neighbours and distant relatives: I’ve never met most of them! And the bloody football. Who cares if her team won or lost last season? No; not this year. This is going to be our beachside Christmas!
I need pre-emptive strategies. Should I book a beachside Airbnb now, claiming I forgot about Margaret’s Christmas expectations? Would that wash? Probably not, given the previous twelve-year protocols.
The kids need to be onside? They have each privately complained to me about Nanna, her hugs and kisses, her overpowering lavender whiff, her predictable menus, the repetitive quips, and the tiny, boring backyard!
Yes: this’ll work. I will introduce some innocent, after-school kitchen chatter about the upcoming Christmas holidays, I’ll remind everyone of the fun during previous visits to Nanna’s! I’ll need a segway at the dinner table to get the discussion going. I’ll give it a whirl over the next few days!
I need to introduce alternative Christmas ideas. I am pretty sure Betsy’s Mum says that they book a beachside cabin every year. And Damian’s Mum talks about the surfing lessons he took last summer.
Righto. I don’t want to ‘overcook the pudding’ but I reckon these inputs will deliver the beachside. Maybe I can suggest Charlie and I drive down to see Margaret the weekend after next. I can arrange sleepovers for the kids. Yep, and it’ll give Charlie and me a break.
Next Friday night, over dinner, the chatter starts with the declaration “Mum is suggesting we don’t go to Nanna’s for…”. The icy, silent treatment dampens the weekend mood.
Things well and truly go ‘south’ when Charlie gets a call from his sister suggesting Mum is starting to display signs of dementia. The prospect of moving out of the family home is the end of independent living. Charlie and his sister talk for an hour or so. Our impending visit is locked in, and timely!
We find her in good spirits. She tells us about the neighbour’s ginger cat, caught in the drain; and her constipation! We help her with the crossword and enjoy chicken salad sandwiches. I notice occasional conversational lapses, the right word proving elusive, but this is hardly dementia. We all do it, from time to time!
About a week after our trip, we’re in the snug, whiskeys in hand. The kids are in the lounge watching TV. Charlie says “Ya know, I reckon that idea the kids were talking about, the beach Christmas, is a great idea. Why don’t I book us a cottage, maybe at Port Arlington, Barwon Heads or somewhere?”
“But what about your Mum? She’ll be expecting us for Christmas.”
“I reckon Sis can bring her down for a couple of days.”
I’m innocent, Your Honour!