For today’s performance, the role of the Ghost of Christmas-Yet-To-Come will be play by a Discouraged Mother.
I’m not feeling the holiday. After lots of big words and big plans and big urging to others last month,(To which I am not even going to link, in my shame) I don’t feel like Christmas. Decorating, baking, dressing, partying, worshipping, shopping, wrapping, hiding, traditioning– none of it.
There is a reason.
For several consecutive weeks, I have shuttled people to various activities, set aside my own agenda. GOT. @#$%. DONE. For other people.
Not me. Not Mickey(okay, a little). Or the boy(we just enjoy our roles as sub-ordinates).
There is only one answer left.
They, in turn, have attended rehearsals, concerts, parties, plays, home tours, ultimate frisbee get-togethers, visits in others’ homes. Thank God, I have someone to enjoy life for me, so I can spend my time gassing up the car and buying foods they are interested in. (Not foods they find boring. Yes, you heard me. Boring.). It’s important that I make it happen for them without regard for the running of a househole and continued access to hot and cold running water indoors or lights & heat.
There is an alternative. I can have all the household help I can stand to delegate to if I am willing to be talked to like something they scraped off the bottom of their shoes. I can have excellent scores on schoolwork if I drive them like a balking team of oxen–constantly alert and steering every second to prevent a stampede.
It would be handy and convenient to blame Facebo*k. But. Like alcohol, it doesn’t create problems. It magnifies them.
It is proving precious difficult to get excited about the first Christmas at full salary in the last four years.
It’s not my deep concern about their character. I wish it were.
freaking pragmatism. I just don’t warm to the idea of spending my holiday time, money and imagination on people who clearly feel they are above me. Just as the clerk at gas station doesn’t buy me a gift that represents an appreciable percentage of her household income, you and I wouldn’t send expensive personal gifts to say, I don’t know…Bill Gates or Mark Zuckerberg. Not only do they not need what we can afford, they might think we were weird and put us on a security watch list.
It gets worse. They are delightful to others. On a regular basis, teachers and people they volunteer with give me all manner of glowing feedback about how responsible, respectful and reliable they are. And how good looking.
Really? Really. REALLY!?!
So? It’s personal?
I actually don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it’s a phase. Perhaps one designed by God himself to make sure a mom was ready to let her chicks leave the nest. If that’s the case, it’s working well, per design. The timing is unfortunate.
I’ve drafted a letter to Santa. He sees them when they are sleeping and awake, knows when they’re bad or good.
He’s cleared me to stick with the bag of crew socks & 10-pack of Juicy Fruit, their father received when he was 15; and the Forever in Blue Jeans Cologne & $5 bill I received when I was 15.
Yep, totally a phase.
How do you stir up your holiday spirit when it’s low?