I’m not sure when it happened, but I fell out of love with Christmas. I was reminded of it when I ditched my Christmas blog header for a summery one because I could handle it no more. (Diagnosis: denial)
WARNING: Thus begins my annual rant against Christmas kitsch. (See last year’s rant.)
I know I’m not the only adult who has lost faith in the Christmas spirit. Maybe it’s the rampant consumerism that urges us to buy, buy, buy. Maybe it’s seeing the Christmas decorations in stores before Halloween is even over (like really, people! darn Christmas creep!)
But the facts are these.
One. I have no children, so I don’t get to enjoy them opening their Santa presents on Christmas morn. I think children are a MUST HAVE for Christmas. I’d like to rent one.
Two. I am a child of divorce. When your family divides in half, it just gets so much more complicated and less fun. You go from everyone being together on the holidays to being in separate camps.
Three. My grandmothers have passed on. Since they were always a part of my holidays, there’s a hole without them. Grammy V., my paternal grandmother, always watched my family open presents. Nanny P. always had Christmas supper at her house, complete with ginormous turkey and her special punch. (And by special, I don’t mean alcoholic. We were kids, after all.)
Finally, four. I have no good Christmas tree stand, thus no big bushy tree which takes up the WHOLE ROOM (which is the only kind to have). Normally I just buy a small Norfolk pine from Wal-Mart, which is quite terrible when you realize I live in the balsam fir Christmas tree capital of the world AND work at a farm which sells these trees. This always makes me feel a little dirty until I realize I don’t want to strap a tree to my car roof, drag it inside, and spend two hours trying to keep it from toppling over on the cat because the stand is made of plastic. Trees should come with stands. The Norfolk pine comes in a pot, so that sort of counts.
So, alas, a Grinchy McScroogerson I have become, groaning at the sounds of carols chortling from the speakers of malls as though my head is going to start spinning like that of the actress from The Exorcist. I may also roll my eyes whenever I see things in green and red (I much prefer gold and burgundy. Hence why my blog header has changed from a garish holiday colour to my familiar beachy colours.)
It’s not that I hate Christmas. I really don’t. I can even offer proof as to why I enjoy some aspects of the holidays:
- turkey and gravy (mmmmm gravy)
- sleeping in
- vacation time
- visiting family
- watching all the awesome movies that are on TV, especially National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and Home Alone, which are simply the best Christmas comedies ever
- Boxing Day sales
- the longest day of the year is finally gone by and the sun can start shining more
- snuggling, cozy-like, under a blankie while drinking warm beverages
- egg nog (I really think this deserves its own point because it’s so full of noggy goodness)
I think that as we grow older, some of the magic of Christmas disappears. Adults don’t leave out cookies for Santa or wait for clattering hooves on the roof. We have credit card bills and regular bills. There’s all that food to prepare. And cleaning. I mean last weekend, the chandelier light in my living room looked as though it belonged in a haunted house only those weren’t fake spiderwebs.
How do you try to get back some of that Christmas magic you felt as a child, waking up on Christmas morn knowing the big guy had left you something AWESOME under the tree and a stocking full of goodness?
Sigh. I’m going to go stick my head in the oven now.
To clean it of course.
Jeepers, what did you think? The holidays aren’t that bad. After all, it’s been four years since I received an awesome present that still sleeps with me at night and keeps my lap warm while I type.
Perhaps there’s a little Christmas magic after all… I just need to forget about those dust kittens he leaves on the kitchen floor like furry tumbleweeds!