Christmas at my house growing up was always a big deal. We would, as a family, go get the tree (which always inspired a certain level of argument over the "best" tree), decorate it with ornaments from our past as we reminisced about each one. We'd stick the angel topper on and joke about hanging our cat, Tinsel, (who we got as a present from Santa) on the tree.
We'd shop for one another and wrap our gifts before placing them under the tree. Christmas music was playing constantly in the house or car and there was always an underlying sense of excitement and anticipation for the holiday to come.
On Christmas Eve, my mom and dad threw an annual get-together with lots of friends, food, carols and drinks. The whole day, we'd prepare the house for our guests. Afterward, my sisters and I would exchange gifts - a tradition instilled by our parents to keep us from driving them insane with our begging to open "just ONE gift, PLEASE?" Then we'd get all dressed up in our special Christmas dresses that our grandmother usually hand-made for us. In later years, they were store-bought, but the ones I remember were all the ones Grandma M. made.
Then came the luminaria. Each year, our church would sell these bags of sand and candles as a fundraiser. My parents always bought enough to line their driveway and walkway and my sister's and I's job was to light these and set them up before going to church.
Let me tell you - these things sucked to put out. You had to fill the bags with sand, set them up, light the candles and try to get them in the bags before the wind or rain or snow blew them out. Many years I remember returning from church to find one or more of the white paper bags burning merrily away. One year, a family friend wound up with a flaming wagon full of bags and sand as she tried to set them out. Even though I absolutely despised this task at the time, I look back on it - and the thrill of NOT catching anything on fire - with fondness.
Off to church we would go, where my mom, as the choir director, had enlisted us all to sing during the service. At the very end of the service, candles were passed out and lit, the lights were turned off, and "Joy to the World" was sung as we left the building. All four verses. To this day, I can't hear that song without remembering these nights. Sometimes wax would drip on our hands and burn; programs would accidentally set fire, or the little plastic cups meant to guard the flame from the outside wind would melt and stink like burning plastic.
Back at my mom and dad's, people would start to arrive for the party bringing more food. I'd have my friends there and we'd often go off on our own to my room while the grown-ups gathered around the living room as my mom played the piano and everyone sang carols. Usually, I went to bed before the last guest departed.
Christmas morning would always arrive with the scent of coffee, cinnamon buns or Monkey Bread in the air. We'd all gather, open our stockings and then gifts from Santa Clause.
In the earlier years, we would then go to my dad's parent's house about 1/2 hour away and open more gifts from Santa and then have a great big dinner there. Later, though, my grandparents would drive to us or spend the night at our house Christmas Eve. My mom's parents were only there for the first seven or eight years of my life and then would come sporadically, as they had houses in PA and FL. My mom's sister, my one and only aunt, would come as well. So would our family friends and we'd have a huge dinner, open more gifts and play games.
I loved Christmas and all the traditions it held for me.
After my husband and I were married, we moved away for a few years. Christmas then was a frantic day spent driving from my parent's house, to his mom's and then to his dad's before returning to my parent's. If we were lucky, we'd get to spend a couple days after Christmas up there so we could see everyone. But mostly the following day was spent on I-95 South.
One year in particular, the Hubbs hit a huge pothole and popped one tire and bent the rim on the back. We put the spare on the front one and decided to get them fixed when we got back home. This year, as fate would have it, it iced over and 95 was shut down in NC. It was declared a state of emergency and after countless hours literally just sitting on the highway, we wound up sleeping in a hotel parking lot (well, I did; the Hubbs slept in the hotel lobby) with the cats in our Dodge Neon. Worst. Sleep. Ever. I kept having to wake up every so often to turn the car on to warm it up. That sucked hardcore, let me tell ya. On my way to work the following morning, the other tire blew. Seriously. Can't make that shit up.
Anywho, when the Hubbs got out of the Marine Corps, we moved back home and did the same insane Christmas shuffle we did before. Everyone wanted to see us on that. day. As someone who was raised Christian but is one no longer, I stand by the truth that Christmas is one day that could be recreated any day of the year. It's been proven that the Christians selected December 25 to coincide with the winter solstice, a holiday for pagans. For me, Christmas was getting out of hand.
So we attempted to set a pattern, alternating holidays with families. This worked for exactly two years. We'd do Easter with A, Thanksgiving with B, Christmas with C. Then Easter with C, Thanksgiving with A, and Christmas with B. But then little A arrived and EVERYONE wanted to be with the first grandchild of both families for her first Easter, 4th of July, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Columbus Day, etc. Okay, maybe no Columbus Day, but you get it.
And I got it, too. Really, I wasn't trying to be a bitch by saying "no, we're not spending 3 hours in the car one way from one family to another on Christmas." I understood that A was everyone's first little grandbaby and that they all wanted to spoil her and love her as much as the Hubbs and I did. Unfortunately, no one got that the Hubbs and I really just wanted to spend the day as a family.
Part of me didn't want to give up the memories of all those special, wonderfully dysfunctional Christmases I had as a kid. And I'm sure that was the case for the Hubbs too. We wanted to share those times with our child. Unfortunately, it wasn't feasible and what really wound up happening was one of us being unhappy.
Planning the holidays had turned into a negotiation rivaling any you'd see among the UN. Sometimes it would result in full-out war. Other times we'd have to enlist the help of a counselor. It could get pretty ugly.
This happened enough times that by the time the holidays arrived with little E. Knievel, I was waving my white flag in advance.
Forget it, I said. We'll spend all effing day in the effing car so we can see everyone. It's just easier to do that, rather than fight and deal with all the political BS that came with deciding where we'd spend the holidays.
So now, I do almost all my shopping (for 40+ people) on Black Friday, which is a holiday I enjoy more than any other because it's the day I get to buy presents for everyone I love. I also love shopping without children in tow, getting great deals, and all the awesome people-watching that comes with it. But BF shopping is also essential so that we don't wind up in the poorhouse every January.
I even have fun wrapping the gifts as I imagine each person opening them and seeing what awesome thing I selected for them to show our love and appreciation for them being in our lives. Because, for me, that is what Christmas is about: Appreciation of those we love. I couldn't care less if I got an iPad mini or a diamond bracelet. While I love those things, it's the joy I get out of giving gifts to others that makes me the happiest.
The kids get an insane amount of gifts, and they absolutely love opening their presents and the magical excitement that comes from the notion of Santa Clause. They are the only reason I put up a Christmas tree, or get pictures taken, or even decorate the outside. As a mom, these things have become a chore for me.
Great, lets put up something that's going to drop fake needles everywhere, the cats will try to chew on, and hang it with things that the 15 month old will be determined to pull off and break and/or eat. Sounds heavenly. Let's also dress up in our finest so we can take fifty-thousand pictures of the kids squirming or crying or doing anything but look at the effing camera and we can spend a small fortune to select two pictures that are half-way decent. While we're at it, let's go out in the freezing cold and hang up things that will only do more to raise our electricity bill. Please, oh please? Can we?
I know what you're thinking - BAH HUMBUG, Hillary! Believe me, as I type I can't believe that these are my thoughts. I don't want to be like this. I'd love nothing more than to get super excited about it and hang the tree up the day after Thanksgiving. I just can't find that Holiday Spirit anymore and I'm pretty sure it's because it's been killed by greed and thoughtlessness and Obligations.
In an ideal world, we'd spend a whole day with each family and exchange gifts, hugs and appreciation. One of those days would be Christmas, but it wouldn't matter who we were with on that exact day because every one of those days would be Christmas for us.
No one would be squabbling about who got who what presents because it's not about that. Last year I was actually accused by a family member of not giving her children gifts, even though she bought my kids gifts. Well, first of all, I did buy her kids gifts and they got them but I guess in their haste to open, no one thought to read the effing tags. Second, if someone didn't give my kids a gift and I happened to give their kids one, I wouldn't say an effing word because who cares? I don't keep a score card and rate gifts from year to year. That's crass and the exact opposite of what Christmas is to me; not to mention the exact opposite of how I want my kids to behave. I was frankly stunned by this behavior.
As the holidays approach, I can't find it in myself to get excited. I actually cringe when I hear something about Christmas right now. It fills me with nothing but anxiety. I don't necessarily fault anyone for this. Well, that might not be entirely true, but I try to understand that every family works differently. My parents were lucky in that my dad was an only child and my mom only had one sibling who never had children. Their parents were friends and so it was not a big deal for literally EVERY family member to get together in the same house.
But yeah. My Holiday Spirit is dead. And I'm pretty sure that resignation of having 3 birthday parties for each kid and spending countless hours on the road for Christmas is what killed it.
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