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Author: Angie Prottsman
Date: 2010-01-13
As I think back over this past Christmas, I guess I have to admit it could have gone worse. I made the colossal mistake of forgetting the one and only gift my oldest son requested from Santa, something I won’t soon do again. Also, I am one of those lucky people that have to make a 7 hour journey to see family every season. It is the time I am most glad to have boys, when push comes to shove and there’s no rest stop around, if you know what I mean. But as a nation, we build up the holiday season so much that it’s generally filled with anxiety and irritation from late November through the beginning of January. I believe there is some cosmic equation that directly ties your level of pre-Christmas excitement to your amount of post-Christmas hair loss.
My holiday tradition actually starts in November; I put up the tree the day after Thanksgiving. I say “my” tradition because as a rule my husband wants nothing to do with holiday decorating. Over the summer we invested in Gutter-Guards for our eaves troughs. While I do admit they sure are handy at keeping out leaves, I secretly think it was his way of getting out of hanging Christmas lights this season. My attempt at stringing lights on our front porch was pathetic and nearly gave me a panic attack by the end of it. But I adamantly believe that my small display of holiday cheer brightens the evening drives of those that pass by my home.
For some reason this is also the time of year I try my hand at baking, knowing full well I have never successfully baked anything a day in my life. As usual I was forced to drive to the store and purchase the tubes of pre-made dough so my four year old and I could cut slices of cookie for Santa, not exactly what the tradition calls for. I sit in my living room eating Santa’s cookies, for the sake of my children of course (how else am I going to make them disappear before morning), and ponder the phenomena of holiday gorging. Contrary to popular belief, the Freshmen Fifteen is not the only way to gain significant weight in a short amount of time. The easiest 5 to 10 pounds you can ever gain happens right before the New Year. But it’s justified when we all make New Year’s resolutions to lose it, right? So we keep eating the cheese-balls and summer sausage, it will be gone by February by golly!
So the night before Christmas my “fake” cookies sit sappily next to my “fake” tree. Bless my mother for still going to the hassle of putting up a live tree every year. But I have learned over the years that when it comes to pets or small children, I will pass on piles of dry bristles on my floor and tempting water bowls to lap from in the middle of my living room carpet. Maybe you can relate to all this, maybe you are comparing me to Ebenezer Scrooge. If it’s the latter, try this embarrassing fact on for size. While I fully support spoiling kids rotten on Christmas (despite how ungrateful they may act at times), I have been having increasing difficulty buying presents for other grown ups my own age. I get you a gift card to Applebee’s; you get me one to Carlos O’ Kelley’s. What was the point? Let’s just keep our thirty bucks in our wallets, say “Happy Holidays” and get on with it. Now “white elephant” gifts are something I can really jump on board with. You know, these are the completely useless and sometimes inappropriate gifts exchanged simply for comic relief. For example, one year my husband received a very practical gift for a 30 year old man, an 18 inch tall bedazzled nut cracker. Despite the hours of laughter its multi-color sequins brought to me; it was even funnier when we re-gifted it to my unsuspecting uncle.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the holiday season and try hard to make each year better than the one before. I meant to convey that, but my natural tendency towards bitterness must have taken over. Maybe my nostalgia for holiday’s years ago has played tricks on me. Maybe I have built up memories from my childhood so much in my mind, that now nothing can top it. Or maybe it’s just the fact that all the thousands of things that used to be done for me during this time of year, are now my responsibility. And we all know it’s easier to enjoy something that just magically happens around you, than put in the sweat and tears to actually make it happen. Oh, if only the stories of Santa and his little helpers were true! The big man in red would save me hundreds of dollars, and I would find out how much one of those little pointy-eared fellows cost to hire for a day and sit back and relax while they took care of business decorating my home and baking goodies from scratch. (If for some reason you are an advanced reader for your age that walked too close to a bright computer screen, and I have just ruined the best memories of your life by spilling the beans on Santa’s true identity… don’t believe a word you have read, I’ve had too much egg nog!)
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