Merry Christmas. I Guess.
When you have kids, you kind of have to be merry and bright and festive in December, even though you may feel like burrowing under your duvet until the holiday season passes.
I used to love Christmas with all its twinkle and magic. But now…now it is work. It is buying a dead coniferous that sheds faster than a golden retriever (but whose byproduct is much pokier than fur). It is suffering through the torture that is baking cookies with two hyper children jockeying for position in front of the mixing bowl. It is running to this store and that buying, buying, buying. It is paying through the nose for shipping.
Hopefully Milo and Belle haven’t picked up on my heavy sighing and quiet grumbling when I’m presented with yet another unexpected holiday gift to purchase–the giving tree! And, oh yeah, all four preschool teachers! Do we leave something for the mailman?–or party for which I need an appetizer. Stat.
My husband and I have a running argument that picks up every year around December 10th. It is called, where are we getting the tree? Oddly, since I complain about the annoyance of having a tree at all, I always announce that we’re going to a farm and chopping our own. J, on the other hand, informs me that we’ll hit up a big home improvement warehouse to buy the cheapest stick we can find.
Who wins these stand-offs? Let’s just say that in ten years we’ve never once frequented a tree farm. Last year I actually wept for my lost tree farm dream.
I suppose, though, that I should just be happy for the time the home improvement warehouse saves me. That way I can spend more hours playing Mrs. Claus as I wrap gifts, decorate the house and troll shops for stocking stuffers.
Not that the holiday season is all bad. I love watching Milo’s and Belle’s faces light up at the sight of a gingerbread house or flickering luminaria. I just wish I could let go of my stubborn idea that Christmas has to be this way or the world will crumble to dust. Then I could spend my holiday season more wisely. Like by hitting the eggnog and overindulging on plum pudding.
