What you never prepare yourself for is that Christmas might not live up to all of your fuzzy-edged, softly lit, beaming-smile expectations.
Don't get me wrong: I know how lucky we are. We are surrounded by family and friends; my husband is not only employed but gainfully and successfully employed; we are healthy; we can afford to spoil our children with lovely things. I am so grateful for that, and I hope that my gratitude is so evident that you find this paragraph completely unnecessary.
And I tried, I tried so very very hard, to focus on those things that matter thousands of times more than anything you need AA batteries for, but after a month of talking about Christmas and building up the idea of Christmas and preparing for Christmas, I let it beat me. And so, when my husband asked my three-year-old to hug his mama and tell her thank you for the gifts, for working so hard to make Christmas special, and he refused and threw a tantrum and then told me he only liked his presents a little bit... well. Although my head knew that he was just being three and my head knew that he was coming down with another cold and didn't feel good and my head knew that he hadn't slept well and needed some breakfast and was a little overwhelmed by all the STUFF and the break from routine, my heart didn't exactly get the message and I think if you'd been on the moon you could have heard it break from there.
I cried for a long time about that. I was so disappointed and so let down and so BUMMED OUT by the whole thing. And I knew I probably should never have gotten my hopes up in the first place, but the power of commercialized Christmas is so overwhelming, isn't it? We're bombarded by movies with heartfelt endings, by advertisements featuring well-dressed families enjoying dinner together and children shouting with glee over their gifts. I just expected that our Christmas would be magical and wonderful, and then when it wasn't – when it ended up feeling like it was just another whiny, crappy day only with presents to unwrap, PRESENTS NO ONE WOULD SAY THANK YOU FOR – I let it get me down. That was my fault, and I feel silly about it now, but back in the moment, I felt so helpless and sad.
I feel like someone should have told me not to get my hopes up; that if my children managed to attend the Christmas Eve candlelight service without catching on fire, that I should consider our holiday a success. Instead I was disappointed that I was handing out snacks and changing a poopy diaper when what I wanted to do was join the congregation in singing carols and celebrating the birth of Jesus with my whole, undivided attention. And I know I can do that at any time, in the quietness of my own home or while I'm driving my car or cooking dinner, but oh, the feeling of being gathered together with hundreds of other people who are joyful alongside you for all the same reasons? (This is where you're supposed to reach through your computer screen and slap me and say IDIOT, do your kids stay quiet in a pediatrician's waiting room? Then what made you think they'd tolerate - much less ENJOY - an hour-long church service, even if it DID involve fire?) I know. I KNOW. But I struggled a little bit with the whole "Christmas revolving solely around the kids" thing because Christmas is not just about kids and the stuff we give them. Christmas is supposed to be special for me, too, but I found it really difficult to find the balance between KIDSKIDSKIDS PRESENTSPRESENTSPRESENTS and finding the time and energy to celebrate in a grown-up, less-gift-centric way with kids around. I don't even know if that makes sense. Does that make sense?
So anyway, yes, I had a nice Christmas in the big picture kind of way. I am
blessed, beyond belief, to have what I have. Would I have liked a
Christmas morning where the kids were happy and excited and willing
to HUG THEIR MOTHER? Yes, that would have been nice, too. Can I go
back and re-do it though? No, I cannot. And as the days pass, I find
that I'm more irritated at myself for getting so emotional about it.
So I'm putting it behind me (which, ironically, is also exactly where
I put all those cookies) and moving on and looking forward to 2010.
And perhaps one more post for 2009, maybe one with, oh, I don't know,
A HAPPY TOPIC.
I am, however, pleased to report that the kazoo that I tucked into Lucy's stocking was not immediately regretted.


