I See My Foot in Christmas Future | The Beachside Resident

By: Judy Forney

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I was going to write a column titled, “All I Want for Christmas is Three Young Men,” but before I could my husband and I went to Vegas and I cracked a tooth. (We also did a lot of things that were more fun, too!) (Oh, and the idea for the column had come to me before traveling… not after seeing a “Thunder Down Under” show.)

See, the Forney Boys were all supposed to be in Florida for the holidays, and I figured on writing about all the fabulous things we planned to do. The broken molar really has nothing to do with anything except that on the morning I was supposed to start writing the above mentioned piece I was, instead, sitting in the dentist’s chair.

Then, that afternoon, my Seattle son called with bummer news.

“Mom, you know how the last two years the design shop has closed up between Christmas and New Year’s?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, this year we’re staying open and taking orders during the entire holiday week…”

“So… ?”

“You remember my band’s tour in October?”

“Uh-huh…”

“Since I took those 12 days off, my boss won’t let me take any more…”

Errgghhhh!

I’ll admit to fighting tears. And not just ’cause I’d had a series of diamond-bit drills in my mouth all morning. This was supposed to be the first Christmas in five years all three brothers were together. We’d had the conversation way back in August. I’d made the guys promise me Florida in December. Seriously, I had put my foot down about it. No excuses!

“I’m sorry, Mom, but he’s being a real D-head about it and I can’t afford to lose my job. It’s not like new ones are growin’ on trees out here.”

“I know, honey. It sucks big-time, though…”

After we hung up, my beachside son stopped by on a break from work. He wanted to let me know that the grocery was going to be open on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and he figured on working ’cause he could use the extra cash.

Then my son who has recently left active duty in the service called. He was concerned about an upcoming reserve weekend out in Tacoma, Washington fouling his travel plans. He’d maybe have to cut his visit short. Or maybe fly down in January instead.

Errrgghhhh, again!

Did no one remember? Foot. Down. No excuses. All I wanted for Christmas, dang it, was my three boys to be home!

And that’s when it hit me. I don’t know why it had taken so long. After all, a couple years ago I’d stomped my size sevens over the then-living-in-Japan son’s difficulty in flying home for a visit. Seems the Air force doesn’t pay much attention to mothers and where they place their feet. Anyway, I’ve finally realized my foot no longer has any clout… and I guess it shouldn’t. It’s not like back in the day when a little “Santa’s-coming-better-be-good” threat worked wonders. I mean, when your kids are 5 and 8, it’s good for them to have a bit of healthy respect for superstition and a mom’s control over their lives. But at ages 21 and 24? Not so much. No, I wouldn’t want any of the Forney Boys to have grown into guys who are easily pushed around — even by relatives — or felt like they had to humor their dear ‘ol mom. I don’t want obligation; I want our times together to be stress-free and joyful… whenever those times may be.

As it turns out, I will get to enjoy time with my newly out-of-the-Air Force son who will be home during the holiday for the first time in years. Hoo-ray! Still, I’d guess on Christmas morning I won’t be able to stop myself from sending a few evil vibes towards a Seattle boss who’s a “D-head,” a humbug, a Grinch. I’ll probably take a minute to wish that, like in the old days, the markets stayed closed for the day (although you can lay odds I’ll end up running in to pick up something I’ve forgotten). Bottom line, though: kids grow up and mothers have to, too. Family life branches out and goes on and that’s how it should be.

But, hey. Speaking of “branching out”… I wonder…

Bet ya when a Grandma puts her foot down folks really take notice! Now there’s something to look forward to in future Christmases!

Hope you enjoy the holidays, wherever you are, and whomever you’re with.