Parking outside of my
childhood home, hunkered down in my car, with a box of tissues (why did I not splurge for the extra soft,
is a question I will struggle with for a long time as I nurse my chapped nose),
I once again wonder what all of this is for.
It’s December 19--six days before Christmas. For not the last time (and certainly not the
first that week), I wondered how I would survive the next few days. I did not get here intentionally, as few mad
people do. What started out as a true
willingness to help others, a wanting passion for tradition, and my insatiable
need for achievement, coupled with my foolish optimism and talent for
procrastination, created the perfect calamity.
My desire to know I am not alone inspired me to keep this journal of
descent. Please read with a dose of
humor, a lack of judgment, a whole lot of empathy, and perhaps a glass of wine.
Thursday morning,
November 24. Thanksgiving Day. Today is the official start of the holiday
season. There is this feeling in the air
that can’t be matched—exhilaration mixed with a hint of fresh cut pine and the
reemerging sense of hope and kindness. This is going to be the best Christmas yet,
I think as I do every year. Even though
the commercials started peddling their wares weeks ago, I paid no mind. No one is going to take this five week
stretch of holiday elation from me or kick start it early and rob me of enjoying
Thanksgiving.
Thursday night,
November 24. The countdown is on! About 30 minutes after the leftovers were put
away and the three rounds of dirty dishwater were changed, I coerced the kids
to write their letters to Santa. After
stressing that Santa can’t get everything on their lists, even if they did
brush their teeth most of the time and only kicked the dog once this year, I scoured
the sales flyers for the best price on the newest technology and developed my
game plan for tomorrow. 3 a.m. comes
early!
Friday evening,
November 25. Today was a bust. Three of the five stores on my shopping
scheme were sold out of the items I wanted.
Damn you, Thanksgiving Day shoppers!
Another had a line that wrapped around the inside of the
building--twice. And the fifth one had
terms and conditions in unseeable print declaring the offer was only good on
the second Tuesday of next week. Of
course, this fact was realized after standing in a very long line, for a very
long time, behind a very tired toddler.
Who takes their toddler Christmas shopping at 5:00 a.m.???
Monday night,
November 28. Today was my anniversary. Too bad I was too tired and miserable to
celebrate. Way back when, before kids,
Thanksgiving weekend seemed like the perfect time to solidify our love. We never gave it a thought that every
anniversary would be spent running around to different stores in different
towns, only to find the same selection at all of them. I fantasize that I’ll have all the time in the
world to make it up to my husband between Christmas and New Year’s. I’ll pencil him in between naps. Oh, hell, I don’t even remember what those
are anymore.
Monday morning,
December 5. A little over a week in and I am exhausted
already. I resign myself to the fact
that this is now my life for the next three weeks. My daily focus is now split amongst working
full-time, taking a class, raising a family, and holiday preparations. They say it’s “the most wonderful time of
year.” And I am truly full of
wonder. I wonder how I will continue to drive two hours a day to hold down a
job. I wonder how I will continue to squeeze in three hours a week attending
a creative writing class, and how I will continue to review and critique
assignments as necessary to maintain an A average. I wonder
how I will continue to fill my home with groceries that enable my family to eat
regularly and abundantly, while I continue to cook hot meals consisting of a
meat, starch, and a vegetable, along with a dessert nightly. I wonder
how I will continue to launder roughly seven loads of clothes every four days
so Tommy does not have to wear his “ugly underwear” on Friday. I wonder
how I will continue to pay the bills in a timely manner so the lights turn on
when the magic switch is flipped.
Monday night,
December 5. When the supper dishes were finished tonight,
I spent an hour lugging containers of decorations up from the basement that
will transform our hovel into a magical winter wonderland to light the way for
Santa’s annual visit. I thought I could
tackle the lighting first, as that would make the biggest impact on this gloomy
weather and infuse us all with the spirit.
Go figure, only a few of the strands worked, and I had to make a trip to
the not-so-local Walmart. Of course, the
styles change from year to year, so I had to buy a whole new lightscape. After spending a small fortune, I returned
home. But my day was not over. I began making cookies. I typically aim for a batch a night in order
to have everyone’s favorite at the ready come the big day. Side note:
as it draws near, I find myself having to remake the cookies containing
my favorite candy bars, because, well, I start so early in the season--and I’m
a stress eater.
Tuesday night,
December 6. Lying in bed and begging for sleep. Yet, I am already mentally preparing for
tomorrow. Where will I need to go during
my lunch hour to get all of the gifts? Whom should I be buying for? How can I change up my traditional Christmas
Eve menu to keep it fresh and new? Do I
remember correctly that Uncle Jeff was recently diagnosed with a gluten
allergy? Why is this a new thing? What is gluten? Why don’t they just say flour? Sadly, asking myself these questions does not
have the same effect as counting sheep, as I am still awake!
Wednesday morning,
December 7. I feel like I just got to sleep, but I am up
with a new attitude and ready to begin the day…one day closer to the big show—the
mom’s equivalent to the Superbowl. Christmas
is my time to shine. All of my homemaker
talents will be showcased, put on a platform for all to see and admire—and they
must be perfect. From the food to the
decorations, and from the gifts bought and wrapped to the perfect family photo
on the Christmas card. Sure, I know what
the real reason for the season is. But
over time, social media has driven the moms of the world into an unspoken
competition of outdoing each other and ourselves year after year. Each of us longing to receive that well-deserved
praise from our families and others as an invisible prize in a contest no one
really wins. This year I will prove them
wrong--I will win! My husband, my
children, and all who know me will sing my praises!
Wednesday evening,
December 7. That attitude did not last long. It would not be so bad if I could check
something off of my list as opposed to just adding to it; perhaps if the
lighted greens were actually hung swag-like along the perimeter of the front
porch like in the magazine, or maybe if I had remembered to get batteries for
the electric candles I am using as centerpieces. Why does no one else seem to be concerned
with these seemingly larger-than-life details I am failing at? My to-do list is breeding faster than the
fascination with Pokémon Go.
Thursday evening,
December 8. Two weeks in.
It is now time to send the Christmas cards. If I could give up any one Christmas charge,
it would be this one. I heard of men out
there that spearhead this project, but not in my house. And none for hire either—I checked. As I was
scouring the address book this evening, checking the tick marks signifying the
return courtesy cards from years past, filling out the envelopes, and being
certain to articulate a unique and special personal message to all, my three
men were bitching and moaning that they had to sign their name 37+ times. My hope is that Emily Post will eventually
acquiesce that this activity is outdated and a general Facebook post will
suffice in the future. At the end of all
of this, I was not surprised to realize I forgot to get stamps.
Friday evening,
December 9. I can honestly say none of these time-consuming
tasks is even cumbersome to me at this point.
Up until now, all of this is normal holiday preparation. After all, I am trying to create memories and
traditions that will stay with my kids for a lifetime. It’s humanity’s lack of consideration toward
the wife and mother at this time of year that perplexes and frustrates me. Today was a perfect example. A week before Christmas Eve, my dad will turn
65. I imagine at this point in his life,
he is used to being shortchanged by the timing. He is not six. We always find time to visit him or call him
and acknowledge his special day. But
this year, his new-to-the-party girlfriend feels the need to shower him with
love, affection, guests, cake, games, and food—aka a surprise party. Why and how I got wrapped up in this or feel
remotely responsible is beyond me. So
now, in addition to everything else, I must find a venue, prepare games, bake a
cake, address invitations, order food, etc.
Still I smile and plan on staying awake an extra hour a night to get this
done.
Saturday morning,
December 10. We are
going to get our tree today. This is
normally my favorite tradition, but this year it took some logistics to arrange
everyone’s calendar so we all could be available. Frankly, it was a lot of work. The annual choosing of the tree usually takes
some time so I am dedicating the whole day to it. I’ll pack a thermos of hot cocoa. We’ll bond as we race excitedly from tree to
tree in search of the perfect one to cut down and bring home. Just as we pose for a picture, the snow will
begin to fall, creating the perfect day.
My only regret is that we can’t decorate it tonight as a family. The kids’ social calendars are booked solid
and mom will just have to wait.
Saturday evening,
December 10. The
tree is purchased and is sitting bare in my living room, waiting to be
adorned. What began as a nice family
outing today was quickly replaced with boys bickering, me shivering, and my
husband cursing as he realized he once again stepped in a pile of fresh deer
doo. And no magical snow in sight.
Sunday morning,
December 11. The tree is still waiting as I must run the
kids around for their present purchases.
Of course, I cannot take them at the same time—that would be too
convenient. So off I go to the same
place and back--twice.
Sunday evening,
December 11. With no fanfare at all, the tree is now
decorated. No group activity this year
while Elvis sang, nor any rushing to the angel to see whose turn it was to
place it this year (don’t ask). It was
done in shifts between taxiing the kids and helping them wrap their
purchases. I’m saddened to see that this
is what we have become. I remain hopeful
for next year.
Monday evening,
December 12. I was so looking forward to having the week
off before Christmas this year. It
appears though that my time next week is already accounted for. I just received the invite for the local
nursing home’s Holiday “Extravaganza”. I
am Power of Attorney for my grandmother who recently fell and is now a resident
there, unable to walk. One might think, how could this possibly affect Christmas? Here is the breakdown…I now must address HER
Christmas cards, shop for the gifts SHE wants purchased (and wrap them), and attend
the party, which I’m sure is nowhere near an “extravaganza”. The invite was addressed to the “Family of”: Resident. Although there are technically 32 members in
her “family”, because I’m the only one who has off, I am the one expected to
attend. The other 31 family members get
off guilt free. Instead of catching up
on my shopping, wrapping, baking, cleaning, decorating, etc., I must spend a
day in the Kingdom of the Old People, singing along to Bobby Vinton’s Christmas
album, eating sugar-free cookies, and pretending to not have heard the story
about the time Delores accidently tucked her dress into her pantyhose during
the Fourth of July parade in 1993.
Wednesday morning,
December 14. The time is disappearing faster than
doughnuts in a break room. As if any of my
prior ramblings is not enough to give me the right to check myself into a
mental institution, my husband nonchalantly mentioned he wants to give each of the
guys he works with a pumpkin roll. After
unsuccessfully suggesting that everyone likes a Dunkin Donuts gift card for a
cup of coffee (they work third shift—coffee is their lifeblood), I must detour
to the grocery store on my way home today to purchase ingredients. It’s going to be another long night—I have
six pumpkin rolls to make.
Wednesday night,
December 14. At the store, I ran into the neighbor
lady. Oh shit. I forgot she texted me earlier in the week
wanting me to make her food for Christmas Eve (a task I’ve done for the past
six years, but frankly, don’t want to do anymore). I briefly tried to recall my answer as I
dodged her in the baby food aisle. I
felt confident I responded with a firm “no, I am unable to do it this year
because of A, B, and C.” Not a lie, mind
you. As I was checking out, almost home
free, she cornered me and asked me again what I was making and reiterated she
would like to place an order. I tried to
stall. It turns out, people don’t really
care how busy you are when they want something. I came home and immediately began working on
my menu, whilst preparing the pumpkin rolls.
I hope to dissuade her with my lack of complexity this year.
Thursday evening,
December 15. It backfired…she wanted it all. That means double the work during the busiest
day of the year. I suppose I should not
complain—she does pay me in wine. On a
positive note, I finally managed to stop and purchase those much needed stamps
to get my cards moving. I find myself
hoping no one notices that this year’s picture cards are last year’s picture cards. How much can a 14-year-old change in one year
anyhow? A lot, I have to admit, as I
walk by my teenage son eating his fifth bowl of cereal tonight. One more goal deferred to next year.
Friday evening,
December 16. A small victory! I managed to say no to my sister-in-law today. Since the beginning of time, I have entertained
at my house on Christmas Eve beginning at 4:00 p.m. I work my ass off making a spread of food
that we pick at and an alcoholic punch that we guzzle until church services
start at 7:00. Well…4:00 is too late for
her. She wants to come with her husband
and three kids to visit between noon and 3:30.
As I was about to add all day entertaining to my ever growing list, I
remembered my husband would be sleeping during the day since he works third
shift. I kindly explained to her how
overwhelmed I was, and that I could not possibly get everything done while
visiting with her and my nieces and nephews (all under the age of 5, mind you). I pointed out to her it would not be fair to
them either. That text conversation was
at 9:00 a.m. I’m still waiting on some
kind of response. Even an “eff you” could
end the horrible scenario of hate I am internalizing that I imagine she felt
for me at that point for not accommodating her.
Monday morning,
December 19. Three days later, and I still hadn’t heard
anything from my sister-in-law. She
hates me, I know it. Maybe I should
change my mind?
Monday night,
December 19. This morning, before I left for my husband’s
grandmother’s funeral (oh, yes, that really happened, too), my youngest asked
me to make a special treat for his class tomorrow. I don’t think it really was a question at
this point, as he already signed me up and proudly told the class his mom makes
the best food. How could I refuse? After returning
from spending the day with people I hardly knew, preparing dinner that night,
and scouring for recipes, I was ready to head to the grocery store in
town. I was almost out the door. And then…I saw them—the shoes that were not
put away after multiple requests that morning.
There they were, askew on my somewhat freshly-vacuumed living room
floor, taunting me. One kicked
haphazardly under the coffee table and the other far away from its mate, left
where the dog lost interest in it last.
They seemed to prompt the devil’s voice in my ear saying, “You are doing
all of this for them, and they can’t even follow a simple request to pick up
after themselves! Who do they think they
are? This can’t go unnoticed. You must lash out and make them pay. Tell them what horrible, ungrateful little
assholes they are. All of them.” So I did.
And I didn’t stop until I ensured that everyone was feeling as bad as I
was inside. When I realized I was
projecting my being overwhelmed onto them, and that this was the season meant
to be jolly, I became upset with myself.
Here I was trying to make magical memories and pass on traditions from
my youth, and we were all miserable. So
I retreated to the place where my magical memories started and my traditions
began--my childhood home.
I sat in my vehicle for
the longest time looking into the humble home and recalled cheap garland that
didn’t span the length of our staircase, wrapping paper that had no rhyme nor
reason, the tree out front where only half of the bulbs blinked, and the
dependable orange in the toe of my stocking.
As I came out of my foggy haze, I started to see the present happenings
inside of that paint-chipped bay window.
What I saw was a family laughing and snuggling on the couch with their
cocoa in hand watching Christmas cartoons.
I reflected on what I saw through that window and compared it to my current
vision of the holidays. When did I lose
sight of the fact that this is what I wanted?
That this is what matters most to me?
Somehow I allowed other factors to creep in to my expectation and image of
happiness. How did I overlook the
important things while I tried to create the perfect celebration? When all along the celebration was right in
front of me in my family itself.
I drove home tonight with
tears still in my eyes, eager to hold my family and start letting go of that
vision of excellence and start embracing the moments of calm clarity in the
chaos. And tonight I did. We retreated to the living room and watched
Elf. We laughed, talked, and ate our
reserved cookies.
Tuesday night,
December 20. As I am falling into slumber tonight, I recall
something I had heard once and forgotten about.
“Perfect is the enemy of Good,” as made famous by French philosopher
Voltaire. Maybe I am trying too hard to
achieve perfection. Maybe I am doing too
much. Maybe I should say “no” more. Definitely--starting tomorrow.
Wednesday
afternoon, December 21. Today I awoke with a new outlook. It lasted all the way until lunchtime when I
got a text from my oldest son asking me to make fortune cookies from scratch tonight
so he could ask his girlfriend to prom.
Well, it was good while it lasted, but today was not the day after all.
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