Have you ever received an invitation to something and felt turned off right away by it?

What’s your gut response to this one? I am printing the whole thing here as it was forwarded to me, but with the names changed.

——–FWD———-

Maris says she has tried to send this message to you and it bounced back. So I am forwarding it for her.

- Louis

—– Original Message —–

From: Maris

To: (many family members whose names and email addresses have been removed, but the list did in fact, include my address. Don’t know why I didn’t get it)

Sent: Monday, February 11, 2008 3:56 PM

Subject: Passover!

Dear everyone,

This year we will have a Seder on the actual first night of Passover, Saturday, April 19. It will be at our house. As the date nears, we can decide in the menu. If you’re hot to make something special, you can chime in now.

If you’d like me to arrange for rooms at a local motel, please let me know.

I hope everyone can make it.

Love,

Maris

—————-end of FWD message——-

I suppose that on the face of it, this message is not so bad. It was actually last year’s big family Seder that caused such a ruckus, and left a sour (or bitter? or at least, plague-ish) taste in my mouth. I think it was one event that made me seek out starting this blog in the first place, so that I could have a place to put some of my angry thoughts into order, although when I looked back to find the posts, I think I must have never quite gotten them down. I was really, very, very angry.

Some background information might be helpful in explaining.

In the not-too-distant past, Maris and her family would invite our budding family to stay in their spare beds in the finished basement of their very large and beautiful home in one of the rich suburbs of Connecticut. My family would snuggle up in a queen sized bed, with maybe a kid on some cushions on the floor. This way, we could visit for the Seder dinner, and not have to either drive the 4 hour trip back to Philadelphia and also not have to spend money on a motel. In the morning, we and other members of the younger generation, would all have breakfast together with our kids playing, and have a nice time bonding with third cousins and such before heading back home.

I always thanked Maris for sharing her home, for hosting such a nice dinner, for offering breakfast and a place to stay. I always complimented her on how lovely and comfortable her home was, and commented on how much I loved the tradition of staying over, and how it really made me feel like family.

Naturally, over time, our families all have kept growing. Maris has two daughters who are moms, too. In fact, the three of us had our first babies within six months of each other, and our second babies within 3 months of each other. Then one of her daughters had a third… So Maris has a total of 5 grandchildren, some of whom are rather loud and difficult. One of her daughters lives nearby her, the other lives about 3 hours away. I can completely understand that Maris would want to have her far-away daughter stay there with her, and of course great-grandma will stay there too.

But there’s still that big empty basement with the beds, and the three bedrooms upstairs. In other words, there is plenty of room for all of us and more to stay at her house. My children are very well behaved. I believe that our family has always been considerate and polite as guests at their house. So I feel really put off that we are no longer invited to stay over and be part of the family.

There’s that.

And there’s the Bad Stuff that Happened at Last Year’s Seder.

Looking back, it is all so very petty that I even don’t want to write it all out. And yet it is really hard to explain without giving the full story, so those of you with long attention spans can choose to

Last year’s big family Passover dinner was not hosted by Maris in Connecticut, it was hosted by D’s mom, here in Philadelphia. Because we are city dwellers (we meaning my family, as well as my in-laws), our homes are fairly modest in size. Therefore, lacking the room at home to host a huge Seder, D’s mom researched and located a fun and family friendly location where we could serve up a lovely home-made dinner. Everybody brought something, and everybody helped serve. It should have been lovely.

Except that it was RUINED by petty, obnoxious rich people being poorly behaved. And I was at the center of it, the hapless victim of bored rich relations.

You see, I made the mistake of mentioning to Aunt BusyBody that Annie had a rash and was on antibiotics because the doctor thought it might be scarlet fever. Yes, I said, scarlet fever sure sounds like a horrible thing, but it’s really just a different reaction to Strep. Annie seemed fine and healthy other than the rash, but the doctor whom we’d seen that morning wanted to treat with antibiotics just in case, until the results of the throat culture were back.

Aunt BusyBody then told Maris. Maris called her daughters (who were on their way) and warned them that they would be exposing their children to a dangerous, contagious illness for which there is no cure, or somesuch rot.

Aunt BusyBody also called Aunt BitchyBody who told her daughter Princess Gwenivere that she better not come at all, because her infant (1 month old) was sure to perish if exposed to the horrible sickness that was contaminating all of the air in our Passover dinner party.

A few quick facts for those of you who might still be shuddering at the fright of the words “scarlet fever.” 1) It’s passed by direct contact with the spit of the person who has it.2) Strep is almost never seen in children under age 2. 3) It’s not transmitted via the air. You can’t get it just from being in the same room as someone who has it.

Aunt BitchyBody and her daughter the Princess arrive in a flurry of accusations and pissiness. Princess G shouts in my face that she can’t possibly expose her baby to this horrible situation because he hasn’t had any of his shots yet. I try, in vain, to explain to her that there’s no risk to the baby at all unless she were to stick something in my daughter’s mouth, and then move that same object into her baby’s mouth. That it’s not transmitted by air. That my daughter isn’t even sick, she just has a rash. That our pediatrician had said it would be OK for her to be around other children today. All my words fall on panicked ears and there is great drama.

Uncle ArseHole (Aunt BitchyBody’s husband) thrusts a check in my mother-in-laws face (they’d all agreed to chip in for the cost of the venue) and snipes at her “she should never have brought that sick kid here!” and then stomps off. Their whole unpleasant family leaves in a huff, just after arriving. They’d driven at least 4 hours to get there, and didn’t even stay long enough to get the facts before stomping off.

Yeah.

Meanwhile, Maris and Aunt BusyBody are going around talking trash about me, and how inconsiderate it was that I brought this horrible risk amongst everyone. They talked about how they feared they’d become ill themselves. And they thought that poor great grandma might be done in by this too.

Total Rubbish. All behind my back. All whispers of panic and untrue things. Causing mayhem, misery and ruining the party that my mother-in-law had planned so carefully. Hurting my feelings, her feelings, and really sucking all the fun out of what should have been a really wonderful family get together.

Within several days the obnoxious behavior continued. Uncle ArseHole sent out an e-mail to everyone that explained that he was sorry to have had to miss the Seder but he couldn’t help it because he couldn’t put his family at risk when it included “the very young and the not so very young.” And that he hoped in the future “people would be more considerate.” I was furious.

My mother-in-law had been extremely thoughtful and considerate about planning this party. I had helped, too. And I had been very responsible and considerate and taken my kid to the doctor on the off chance that her rash might be something contagious. I had discussed at length the family gathering that we’d planned, and asked about risk to others. I’d been assured and satisfied that there was minimal risk. “Don’t share eating utensils,” advised the doctor. Annie was old enough that she was not putting toys in her mouth. She was not coughing or sneezing. The risk, if there was any at all, was really very minimal. And there was absolutely no risk to a tiny infant, who was not going to put anything in his mouth unless a grownup put it there — same for any of the adults.

That none of the rich, educated relations would pause in their absolute hysteria to think about any of this, to consider any of the facts of the situation really struck me as obnoxious and inconsiderate. They did not spare a moment to think before slandering me and my family.

And now this year, we’re not invited to stayover with Maris and company.

It makes it hard for me to want to go at all. I know, I should just get over it, and just either make the trip there and back in a day or pony up the moolah to stay in a motel. But I really resent the richest of the rich telling me I can’t sleep in their basement and I should just rent a room on my own dime. Thanks, really, thanks a lot!

How about I just keep my sweet children to myself. After all, your grandkids are bullies with snotty noses and my kids might just pick up some bad behavior from them. Wouldn’t want to risk that….

————

*Billie Holiday:

Rich relations give
Crust of bread and such
You can help yourself
But don’t take too much
Mamma may have
And Pappa may have
But God Bless the Child
that has his own,
that has his own.