The holidays are here. Every year, I wonder how it happens so quickly, this annual progression of Thanksgiving to Christmas to New Year. Wasn’t it only yesterday I was chasing my tail to survive the 2018 line-up? Yet here we are again, ushering out 2019, prepping for 2020.
The year-end holiday line-up is a funny thing, no? Most of us recognize some version of it, this multi-faceted stream that flows from our hearts and connects us to others who touch our lives. For some of us, the year-end holidays start with the new year (Happy Belated Diwali, Dr. Roberts). For others, the connection runs the gamut from Jesus and Santa to candy canes, cocoa, and carols. (Merry Christmas, and God bless us, everyone.) For still others, December brings a Festival of Lights complete with menorahs, dreidels, and latkes (Happy Hanukah, Mr. Gottlieb). I could go on, but I’ll spare you.
Maybe some of us embrace the season because of how we were raised. Perhaps others scorn it for the exact same reason. For me, it’s a bit of both. I struggle with the holidays, and I’m not quite sure why. My childhood Christmases were lovely. Over the top at times, maybe. But I was a kid. I don’t think I cared.
When I became a mom, though, the holidays changed. The commercialism got under my skin. The conspicuous consumption embarrassed me, inside my own home and beyond its walls, too. I wanted Jesus to be the reason for the season, but even pastors’ kids were faring better than my own when it came to the gifts. I didn’t want my kids to miss out completely. So I braved the crowds and tried my best to be a good Santa. I wasn’t all so great at it, though. The crowds and the money worries invoked anxiety. I suffered the blues and the blahs. Ugh, I hated December.
It’s taken a lot of years for me to discover two reasons that make the holidays difficult for me: (1) Gift-giving is in no way one of my love languages and (2) I am not mildly introverted, I’m freakishly so. In other words, for me December is a landmine of gift exchanges and parties, caroling and cookie swaps, school pageants and concerts, neighborhood soirees and parades.
Yet here’s the ultimate paradox: I truly like people. I like going to their homes. I like inviting them into my own. I care about what’s going on in their lives. No way do I want to be left off the invitations lists.
That said, this year I have TAKEN CHARGE. I’ve decided to OWN the holidays, from Thanksgiving through the New Year. So just how does one own the holidays, you ask? Let me outline the ways.
(1) You send out house rules to guests before they arrive for the holiday feast. You tell them what’s allowed, which includes watching sports, laughing, praising the chefs, hanging around into the evening, and taking home leftovers.
(2) For follow-up, you tell them what will be frowned upon. This includes discussing politics, acting Scrooge-like, and not assembling their dish for the feast pre-arrival. (Happy hour moms, you copy here?)
(3) You give fair warning to family that there may be talk of future holiday gatherings, including more dinner logistics, the optional gift exchange, the mandatory family photo...you get the picture.
(4) You pep talk yourself that your worst holiday hosting experience is behind you. You know, that first Thanksgiving when you learned that (a) it takes a looooong time to defrost a turkey, (b) if you cover the rum cake, the cat can’t imbibe and then get sick in the dining room an hour before guests arrive, and (c) if you over-bake a pumpkin pie, and you fail to add the requisite spices, you produce a rubbery Frisbee not even the dog will eat. (Remember, Tina H?)
(5) You’re owning these holidays, though. You’ve embraced the fact that you’ll not be hosting a Norman Rockwell-like celebration. Further, no one will die because of it. So you tackle the question of who within the family will be missing from the holiday table because they’ll be at work? (Thanksgiving sucked without you, AA and SiSi, but we’ll see you at Christmas, right?)
(6) Speaking of Christmas, it’s time to take on more pressing issues. For instance, who in the house will bring decorations down from the attic, sneak off to watch sports instead of helping to decorate, remind his wife he hopes she remembered those Black Friday deals he saw, and then be done with all things Christmas? Yeah, that would be a man named Rice...UNLESS his grands are involved, in which case, get out of the way, the man will be on a sacred mission. (I’m partly kidding, of course. The man has a big fat heart. I’m grateful that gift-giving does seem to be one of his love languages. I’m sure our kids are thankful, too. But I digress.)
(7) Now that you’re really owning it, go beyond the walls of your own home and (GULP) dare to compare your holiday spirit to that of your friends. Here’s a good one for starters. Who will be the first to order Nutcracker tickets...during commercial breaks from watching televised holiday specials, snuggled in a Hallmark Christmas channel sweatshirt? You? Or a friend? (Oh, hello, Karen A.)
(8) Who will have their Christmas family photos (with kids in matching outfits, faces clean and aglow) ready to go to the print shop prior to December 1? (Come on, Kelly C, you know you have it together.)
(9) Who will have gifts bought months ahead of time, have at least one room of her home refurbished, and be ready to entertain her entire growing family on Thanksgiving or Christmas, depending on whether it’s an odd or even year? (Kathy M, you are beyond together. Love you, booger.)
(10) On the other end of the scale, who will complain about “your mom and her damned holiday schedules”? (That would be my favorite son-in-law, right, Patch?)
(11) Who will win our family Flake of the Year award? (Bwahaha, I have my suspicions.)
(12) Finally, who will be overwhelmed by this jumble of holiday wonder before all’s said and done? (That would be me, the family matriarch, the last person who’s supposed to be a Scrooge or a Grinch but the one usually hanging on by a thinning, elongated thread.)
For now, though, I’m owning these holidays. I’ve embraced December 2019 with gusto, even typing up Festivus Grievances to share with those who may not have any of their own. (Beware, Susan and Ken L.)
So friends, if you’ve seen me sneak outside to catch a breath of quiet during your previous holiday gatherings..., please don’t cross me off your invitation list just yet. I made it through the Gobble. I’m working on the Ho Ho. With any luck, I may surpass the Humbug. If not this year, there’s always 2020. Right?
Happy Gobble Ho Ho Humbug, all. Cheers, too! J
