This will be Jan and Ben’s first Christmas in their own home, and I’m excited for her. It’s been really cool to watch her find her groove as an adult woman, and unapologetically enjoy tradition and domesticity at the same time as maintaining fun, adventure, and independence. She has a great head on her shoulders and knows that being a modern women doesn’t have to mean being the complete opposite of her grandmothers and great-grandmothers.

She wanted to host some kind of a holiday event at their place so they invited Ben’s family and our family over for supper and decorating. After we ate, the males drifted toward the TV and the females sat around the table decorating homemade gingerbread cookies and houses that Jan had baked and assembled the night before. Cob came over and decorated cookies too, man-style, by impaling Mr. Gingerbread onto a toothpick stuck in a Jube-jube, and creating red blood and guts with sprinkles and mini M&Ms.

“Hey, I’m confident enough in my masculinity to sit here and do this, but only because food is involved,” he stated in his deep baritone, then grinned and asked his sister to pass the marshmallows.

Doc took my chair after awhile and finished decorating a house with Jan, while I stole his camera and took pics in a pathetic attempt to capture the memory. Once the houses and cookies were dripping sugar and candy (and edible gore, thanks to Cob), attention shifted to the tree waiting bare in the corner.

Jan unpacked the new light strings and was walking toward the tree when Mary, Ben’s mother, called for him to come help Jan put the lights on. Ben, who was across the room, continued the conversation he was in the middle of with his father and Ari.

Mary called for him again. Ben continued talking, oblivious to his mother.

Half a breath later, Mary launched into a lecture of her adult son. In front of his guests. In his home. Which he pays for with his money, earned at his job.

“Benny, Jan wants you to come help her with the lights so you have to come help her right now!” she yelled. And then she said one of those phrases that makes me want to strangle someone. “Just remember that in a relationship if momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy, and Jan isn’t happy so you should come over and make her happy – that’s your job.”

I looked at Jan, who was already looking at me, and an entire conversation passed silently between us. Out of respect for my daughter and her boyfriend, I bit down on my tongue. Hard. Again.

For some reason, despite knowing her for five years now, Mary still doesn’t seem to have a clue about her future daughter-in-law. Jan is perfectly capable of making herself happy, and certainly does not need to be spoken for. Whooboy! If EVER there was ANYONE who is entirely comfortable and confident voicing her own opinions and needs, it is my daughter. She is small and pretty and looks as girly-girl as they come, but she doesn’t take shit from anyone. Anyone. And yet Mary repeatedly directs her son to do what she thinks Jan wants, as if Jan isn’t capable of speaking – or knowing – it for herself.

So self-confident and strong is Jan, that she shrugs off way more bullshit than she ever bothers to respond to, and she’s only nineteen. I, on the other hand, needed almost 40 years to get to that point, and some days I still fall short. Like this day, when Mary was pushing all my buttons. Jan just shrugged and rolled her eyes, but it took everything I had not to launch into Mary and cut her off at the knees.

Ben took his time but came over to help Jan, and Mary eventually shut up. I unclenched my fists, and the evening continued pleasantly enough.

… until we were sitting around later, and Mary was talking about something. Her husband gently interjected a correction and further context, as someone who shared the experience often does when a story is being told, and Mary shook her head, got a disgusted look on her face, waved her hand at him, and… shushed him.

Emphatically, rudely, and loudly, this woman actually shushed her husband, a grown man, in front of his children and their guests, and told him to “be quiet”.

I stood up and left the room. I had to. I went to the bathroom for appearances sake, but I really just needed to get away before the bubble of judgment in my throat escaped and I stuffed a Christmas tree up her ass, angel and all.