Friends and family far and wide. Buckle up, put your seat trays in their full, upright and locked position, and settle in for the annual Hale Family Brutally Honest Christmas letter, 2020 edition. 2020 was a massive dumpster fire that can only be put out by hoses full of antibacterial gel and subzero vaccine juice thanks to that Chinese devil virus, COVID 19. We hate her and I refuse to give her more airtime in this letter. Let’s turn our attention to the purpose of this letter: to highlight my failures as a parent, wife and caregiver. It’s been a seminal year on all fronts.
I spent the first part of what Truman has dubbed “The Exile” working from home. My kids took their classes virtually and Sean continued his life as normal: waking at noon and moving to the couch, falling back asleep and waking again to eat the dinner, then returning to the couch to rest and yell at us about all of the noise we’re making with the cleaning. Because I am still working through my feelings about Sean’s brain damage and inability to contribute in any meaningful way to our family/household, I spent a great deal of time stewing in resentment and trying, but failing, not to let it spill over into verbal attacks. If our home was a reality show, you would despise me. I’d be the Kate Gosselin of this story, a Karen for the ages. Therapy, folks. I’m working on it.
Sean continues to love me desperately for reasons I cannot begin to understand. He struggles everyday with unrelenting fatigue, memory issues and a short fuse that he can’t control, but he still knows all the answers on Jeopardy, is up on current events, and he has yet to find fault with Harper, who we have dubbed, “The Precious.”
Truman is graduating this May and will officially convert to Catholicism on Easter Sunday. This was a surprise to us all but we are supportive heretics, continuing to attend our beloved Methodist church. He hopes to attend one of two colleges this Fall, Belmont Abbey (N.C.) or Lee University (Cleveland, TN) and has been accepted at both. I have failed him by badgering him constantly about the connection between his major and his financial future when all he really cares about is farming (yes, farming) and reading the classics. He asked for suspenders for his birthday. Where did he come from?
Tatum is in total control of every aspect of her life. I am blissfully unaware of her cheer practice schedule, her school assignments, her game schedule and her social calendar. She started her own Etsy store this year after attending an entrepreneurship camp and has made upwards of $600. Other than posting a link on Facebook, I haven’t helped her at all. I have failed her by not letting her practice driving (I hate that part of parenting) and occasionally forgetting to pick her up from her activities, forcing her to find her own ride. She’s very self-sufficient.
Harper started Middle School this year and joined the dance team. Get this, guys: she had to practice Every. Single. Day. Can you imagine? Despite the grueling schedule, the dance team has been great for her, keeping her moving and off her computer for the 15th re-watch of every episode of The Office. Their performances were amazing and she improved dramatically. I have failed her repeatedly by responding to her constant whining with equal parts losing my shit (obligatory profanity) and giving into her demands. It’s a truly effective parenting strategy.
What about you, Julianne? Are you failing yourself? I’m so glad you asked. Yes, yes I am. For starters, I am introspective and have a constant inner dialogue that reminds me of my repeated failures. Thank you, voice in my head. Secondly, feelings of shame and guilt lead me in one of two directions: the pantry or Amazon.com, neither of which benefits me very much. My vices are few but they are mighty. Finally, I have failed at doing the one activity that I know I was put on this earth to do: write. I even failed to write a Christmas letter last year.
Tonight though? Tonight was good. I made salmon, we ate dinner, and the kids cleaned the kitchen while I sat with Sean and read. Then, we played Settlers of Catan (I won—suck it, Hales!) and retired to our beds, where I snuggled with Betty, our 8-pound mutt who brings us all incredible amounts of joy, and wrote this letter. I was interrupted only once for a complete Harper meltdown, which I responded to with anger before acquiescing to her demands (winning!). Taken as a whole, it was a very good night. Maybe my days of playing Karen on the reality show of our lives will soon be behind us. After all, I am in therapy with a take-no-prisoners, no-BS therapist who gets me. There’s hope for us yet, friends.
Merry Christmas to you all! We hope to see your face, shake your hand, and give you a great big hug in 2021!
Another Gray Hair 