family time

I am, frankly, too old to have screaming fights. That's what 12-year-olds do when they don't get their way. Neither of my brothers seem to have progressed, emotionally speaking, past that age.

Last night we were supposed to have a family dinner. The whole family hasn't been all together in three years, so my mom wanted us to take the one night we had together in the same town before my little brother flew out to go to dinner. My older brother beat them to town and went ahead to their condo. My mom told me they would be in town around 6 but ended up being about 45 minutes late, and older brother, who has the patience of a toddler who has to pee, was already fuming at being made to wait. Apparently as soon as my parents, little brother, and his girlfriend walked through the door he was on them, snarking and snapping, and little brother, who has the temper of a red wasp, lit right back into him.

I got a call saying my dad had gone to bed, my older brother had disappeared, and it would just be mom, little brother, and the girlfriend for dinner. I held onto my husband's elbow as I listened to my mom try to excuse their behavior and make light of it all, bless her heart. By the time they got to the restaurant I was already one beer in-- if there's anything that will drive me to drink, it's spending time with my family. Dinner, after little brother finally calmed down, was relatively normal. He of course had to make snapped remarks to my mother when she tried to give advice or worried over him not having his coat (I'm 24, Mom, I take care of myself all the time, I don't need you now, etc). They went out to a bar, with my extra key so they could sleep in my guest room, my mom went back to the condo, and husband and I went home, finally.

At 5 a.m., a very drunk little brother stumbled into my house. They smoked in my garage, apparently, but went to bed afterwards. At 9:30 my mom called to wake them up so they could get ready in time for their flight. Little brother was paying the price and spent a while in the bathroom throwing up. He was in a foul mood the rest of the morning. I don't know what he said to her, but his girlfriend spent the morning walking around my house crying. Mom and I mostly tried to stay out of the way. Little brother was throwing things around in the guest room, from suitcase to floor to suitcase, mumbling and yelling. Mom asked him about his phone, which was broken (she told me at one point they came to the condo last night, he was drunk and his phone was broken, but she didn't give me details, thankfully), wondering if he could repair it. He came flying out the guest room, demanding at the top of his lungs if she thought he was stupid or wouldn't think of getting it repaired and didn't she know how fucking old he was and that he could fucking take care of himself.

I had had enough. I live a very peaceful life here. There have been very few fights in this house. And this is my house. He can scream all he wants in his own, but no one will talk to my mother in my house that way, and I told him so.

I suppose that was a mistake, I suppose I should have just let it go. I'm so tired of letting things go, I've done that for the last 27 years. It's not fair to my mother, and someone has to stand up for her since she won't do it for herself for the sake of keeping peace. I listened to him rant at me the rest of his time here, about nothing in particular, just how ready he was to go home and how he hates the South and how no one understands him and how he hates everyone.

His girlfriend continued to cry as she went out to the car. Mom went out with her to crank it up, and little brother exited with his last bag. I sighed and dialed my husband, feeling the tears start to fall. But little brother came back in. I could tell by his face he wanted to apologize, but like I said, I had had it. There's no apology for something like that, not really, no apology can cover 24 years of insane rants and destroyed family gatherings and dramatic outbursts.

Before he could even start I told him that this was why I didn't call more often, why I didn't include him in my life, because he corrupts and mutilates my peace and quiet, the peace and quiet I've striven so hard to achieve. I don't know what exactly I said that was so terrible, I was just trying to be honest, but he started screaming, saying I don't love him and I don't care about him and that he's so sorry he can't fit into my little "fantasy house in the woods" and my "perfect life in suburbia" because not everyone is the same and not everyone is so cookie-cutter and didn't I know that family was messy.

Yes, family is messy, but families don't curse at each other at the top of their lungs and say hurtful things and completely disrespect each other.

I thought I had had it before, but after he screamed like that, I lost my head. I told him, without raising my voice, to call me when he grew up, to go fuck himself, and to get out of my house.

And that was that.

I'm annoyed with myself for getting that angry, for letting him push my buttons that way. I know better, I know how he is. But I felt like a line had to be drawn. I'm so tired of him, tired of his drama. Everything's a story with him, everything's a problem, no one gets him because he's so different (like tattoos and weed really make you that different), and I'm tired of hearing about it. He needs to grow up-- adults don't get so drunk the night before a flight that they puke everywhere, adults don't take that anger out on their girlfriends and their moms and sisters. He has no emotional maturity.

I should have been the mature one, I should have just let it go and not said anything. But how could I? How can anyone sit there and watch someone tear at their mother like that? I've watched it for so many years.

Mom called a minute ago. They're still in town, she and my dad and older brother. She wanted to know if I wanted to eat dinner with them, but I feigned a headache. Actually I do have a headache, but the truth is I just can't handle any more family right now. I need to recharge. If I can take anything good away from today it would be two things: I'm glad my husband wasn't here, because he would have physically kicked my brother out long before the screaming started. He doesn't stand for anyone talking like that in our house or to me. And also, little brother knows the line with me now. He knows I won't stand for that crap any more. It also made me appreciate even more the relationship I have with my husband's little brother who's recently been more of a brother to me than my own.