Chattering Teeth

Starting to worry about our Xmas trip to Seatt1e. Sigh. We love Seymour's parents and his brother and wife and their kids, but they and their lifestyles and values are wacky-different from us and ours. Because I do not have a fully developed sense of self, I find these weeks soul-crushing. I do not like feeling like I am an ass just because I am left-leaning, pudgy (the other two women are wafery, though they do not verbally obsess about it), and fashion-challenged.

There aren't any arguments, or insults, or slights. These are kind people. My discomfort springs from unintentional slights or exclusions (which in turn stem from being non-extroverted as well as perceived as the least interesting person there), and from always being greeted with a declaration that I must have lost weight!

Not that I don't have fun. Who wouldn't, as Seymour's folks are beyond hospitable, and go to extra lengths for their grandkids. They are once again bringing San+a (private audience for the kids), reindeer, and snow to their yard. But all our Seatt1e friends are going to be gone, or are Jewish or Pagans, and most likely won't come join in.

My biggest worry is that Iz will start to internalize their values rather than ours. She has already started to tell people how her "abuelos son muy ricos," in a tone of wonderment though not yet pride. I have been taking pains to tell her that we are not them, that living in a very big house is actually a logistical nightmare for slacker-leaning types like her and me. But perhaps we can get her to bug them about getting a recycling program in place.

They do have a full wet bar, though. I suspect that while I am on duty, the kids will spend a lot of time locked in the racquetball court while I gaze on from up high, occasionally saluting them with my highball glass. There will be frequent outings to non-mall, non-restaurant places (suggestions?). Also we will spend a day up in Vanc0uver visiting my three 90+ year old aunties.

I am being a complete dick about this, as well as inarticulate. Come, regale me with tales of why you also dread spending big bolts of time with your nice in-laws.

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