Ho, ho, ho.

I did a bad thing. I invited Crazy Mother into my home for the holidays. She has, within 30 minutes of her arrival, sucked out all of my holiday spirit, like some sort of leech-like holiday spirit-sucking parasite.

Crazy Mother goes to bed around 7 pm, and arises at 3 am. She skulks around the house in the dark, leaping out to surprise unwary bathroom visitors to ask wildly inappropriate questions for 3 am, like, "Where is the antibiotic cream?"

Crazy Mother is a snoop. She will look through any cabinet and drawer shamelessly, and if she finds anything interesting, she will ask you about it unabashedly. "What is this medication used for?" "I see your retirement funds are mostly in low-cap funds. Is that a good idea?"

Crazy Mother refuses to take a shower. Now in the third day of her visit, she is starting to look like a homeless woman. She takes quiet little sponge baths in the bathroom sink (at 3 am), but for reasons that escape me, will not avail herself of shower nor bathtub.

Crazy Mother lurks. Rather than joining us around the table or in the den in front of the television, she stands outside the room in the darkened hallway, arms akimbo, watching our little tableaus with inscrutable expressions on her face.

Crazy Mother suffers from diseases for which we must rush out into the night and purchase over-the-counter remedies. This visit, it is some creeping and contagious rash that, by her report, has now spread across the upper half of her body.

Crazy Mother never says "Thank you," not for anything. After Angry Baker plunked down $50 for a casual meal last night, and I paid for another meal the night before, she said nothing. Absolutely nothing. She must be taken care of, and she expects that we will pay and that no thanks or gratitude is necessary. Angry Baker is livid.

Crazy Mother talks in baby talk. And not just to Angry Toddler (who keeps asking me when Gramma is leaving). She has always done this. I am at a loss to explain it.

Crazy Mother takes things. Sections of the newspaper. Books. Last night my placemat at the restaurant. She pulls them out of the hands of her victim wordlessly, no "Please" or "Thank you." I am at a loss to explain this too.

Crazy Mother eats like a bird when seated at the table, pretending a delicate constitution and even more delicate appetite. But she shows no such hesitation if the food contains sugar. Candy, cookies, cake, pie, rolls, chocolate, nothing is safe from her at 3 am. Crazy Mother talks a lot about an imaginary metabolic disorder, trying to get sympathy for the fact that she is fat even though she eats so very very little. At least we won't be burdened with these leftovers next week.

But by far the worst: Crazy Mother derives her worldview from FOX news. This morning I endured some lame exposition on why the public school system was failing and why charter schools were such an excellent idea: Bad teachers. And school shootings.

I can't stand it. I'm going to grab my Christmas tree and spend the rest of the holiday at the hotel down the street.