Would you hate me if I said I can’t stand Christmas?
Yeah, I kinda hate me too.
But it’s a game of charades I can no longer keep up. Actually, I don’t think I ever hid it. So in essence I suck at charades. But Christmas drives me mad. The over-production, the insane crazy shops, ugly Christmas shirts. No wait, I kinda dig the tackiness of them. It’s like totes hipster, right? If so, I’m in. The pressure. THE PRESSURE. To hold the perfect day. To be creating amazing food and have this spectacular house. Decorated to the hilt, courtesy of Woman’s Weekly (monthly, whatevs) Christmas Special. To have amazing special, never-to-be-recreated-again moments with all the family. And the obligation to have to spend the whole day with said extended family. Great if one has an awesome family. Not so great if it’s a little nutty. Then it’s more akin to being locked in a panic room with a twitchy skunk. I am deep into Grinchmas town.
Christmas to me is like your school formal. It’s this thing that you’ve been waiting FOREVER for. You’ve planned it in your head a million times; how it’s gonna go down, the awesome fun times you’ll have. The time you’ve always wanted. And then it comes…… and then it’s gone and you’re left with a massive anti-climax. Like, is that it? And it never quite works out exactly the way you want. It might be ok, but it’s not fab. And someone always makes a dick of themselves. Let’s blame Uncle Ted, shall we?
I want to love Christmas. I really do. And now with the little ladies afoot, I want to soak up their excitement. But it always seems to get squashed by obligations. And routine. And egg nog. Seriously, what is with that stuff? It looks like this amazing refreshment, and then blergh. Egg. As a drink. I guess the title says it all really, doesn’t it?
I promise I never used to be such a Grinchmas. I used to excitedly lay awake all night as a kid, trying to catch out Santa. And then Con the Fruiterer (doll, not the actual) led me to uncover Santa’s dirty secret. What? You didn’t want a Con the Fruiterer doll at age 7? But it wasn’t even that. I still happily played along. I loved nothing more than seeing all the relos, eating too much and running around like mad. But then my Nan passed away on Christmas day. And after that Christmas was never the same again.
So because I’m all “the world has gone mad and Christmas is an over-commercialised, over-hyped, obligatory day that we pin too much hope on and why do we do this to ourselves”……. I’ve gone and bought this:
It’s the ultimate in self-sacrificing parenting, right? I’m practically throwing myself on the tracks for my little ladies. Possibly a tad hypocritical. But that’s how I roll.
The excitement on their faces when she arrived was kinda worth it. Her name is Elsa. I have NO idea where they came up with that name.
I know people get a bit anti-elf, but really, what harm are they? They provide a bit of magic, a bit of an escape from the hum drum. And it works as a permanent reminder to behave. Or let’s call it ‘positively reinforce’ to make ourselves feel better.
And I guess that’s what all the tacky t-shirts, over-indulgence and forced get togethers are, aren’t they? A bit of change of pace, escape from the grind. A chance to unwind and spend time with people we might not get much time to see. I am trying to use my ‘green thinking’ and flip this around. I think I vomited a bit in my mouth just then. Six degrees of head shrinking right there.
So maybe we all need a little bit of tacky Christmas cheer. If it helps us to feel excited and fun and happy. But it’d be great to carry that feeling all year, wouldn’t it?
Meanwhile, I’m going to try to get myself more enthused by checking out these most awesome ugly sweaters. I think I need one in my life.
Are you a Grinch? Or are you all over Christmas like sweat rash on butt cheeks? Can you give me some tips on how to love Christmas?