Or do I?
My husband’s half sister got married in August. Apparently only a limited number of my father-in-law’s side of the family were invited.
One of my hubby’s aunt’s decided to have a party for the bride and groom so that my husband’s side of the family could celebrate their union since only a few of them were invited and could make it.
The party is this Sunday afternoon. . . an hour and a half away from home . . . on the way to cottage country.
(Insert eye roll.)
When did we find out about this party? Yesterday when my husband called to wish his dad a Happy Birthday. His dad assumed we knew about it and were going. Ok, whatever.
Hubby calls or texts his older sister. She forwards me an email she received from their half sister on August 23. The original email was sent from the aunt on August 21. Hubby’s older sister apologized profusely for forgetting to send us the email. No problem. She’s busy. She just completed a gruelling year of teacher’s college and is now doing her placement while juggling settling into a new house.
But am I wrong in thinking that it was not her responsibility to share that invitation with us? Should it no have been the guest of honour?
In my mind, the same way my husband’s half sister sent it to her older sister, she could have copied my husband on the email.
I DON’T WANT TO GO!!
Sorry for yelling, and I know that sounds childish.
I’m tired of this crap! Dealing with his family is exhausting. I wonder if he feels that way about my family. Which by the way he had to throw in my face: “We always go to your family things.”
Yes, we do, but that’s because we’re always invited and I don’t hear about it four days before the event unless it was planned five days before the event.
I have zero interest to get up early on a Sunday morning, going to church, race home to get stuff together (oh yeah, it’s a potluck), disturb my daughter’s nap schedule, drive an hour and a half or more to go to the boonies, spend a couple of hours with complete strangers who I will probably never see again before I die (or God forbid, at a funeral), spend probably more than two and a half hours trying to get home because we’ll be travelling back to the city with all of the people who were up at their cottages for the weekend, have to get my daughter to bed, figure out what the heck I’m going to take for lunch the next day (I’m not a sandwich kind of gal . . . I love my left overs), and then find some down time before I have to hop into bed to get up at the butt crack of dawn the next morning.
I feel a little selfish though. My husband spends very little time with his family. I feel guilty when I don’t want to do things like this. However, on a regular basis, they don’t make the effort. I’ve been spoiled with a great family that I don’t have to work hard at to love, or even like for that matter. I’m exhausted just thinking about Sunday.
And he insists that he’s not going without me.
I don’t really care how I look in these people’s eyes. I’m pulling the seven months pregnant card and I’m exhausted.
For real . . . what would you do? If you think I’m being unreasonable, please tell me.