My apologies to anyone reading today in a reader. I’m importing some old posts from my other blog before it’s shut down and sent to wherever blogs go to die. A blog graveyard? I don’t know. THIS is the post from today, the rest will be dated according to their original air date. Sorry for overloading you in advance.
During years past, I looked forward to the holidays nearly peeing myself with the childish excitement of it all (or, perhaps I am just a Simple Simone). Decorating cookies, Christmas music blaring from all radios, wrapping gifts in elaborate patterns, and throwing festive tinsel and garland around the house merrily, for months ahead of time.
I’d roll my eyes at the Scrooges out there who would complain about the Christmas stuff coming onto the store shelves mid-October, mocking their discontent. I just couldn’t understand how anyone would mind that stations played Christmas music in November. I sure didn’t. Hell, I’d play it in July while tooling around in my car (with the windows rolled up, for sure, so I didn’t look like an escapee from the local funny farm).
I’m not sure if it’s a combination of being completely overwhelmed by the things that have happened this year, or that I’ve sort of retreated back into my shell. Or maybe it’s just pregnancy brain fog sneaking it’s tendrils around my grey matter, I’m just not sure.
But I can tell you that I am not excited for the holidays this year.
I mean, I’m not NOT excited (if that makes any sense) but I’m certainly having a hard time getting as pumped about it all as I normally do. It all just seems like so much extra WORK for me to do. And I already have a pretty full plate. Of bon-bons! ZING!
I guess that part of it is that I’m feeling pretty discouraged about the whole situation. Now, I’ve written in years past about all of the mucking around that we used to do to appease our families, and how we were going to stop fucking doing that, because it made the holidays miserable. For us.
So, once we bought our house, and got settled in, we volunteered to start hosting some of the holidays. We’d take Thanksgiving proper with my parents, Dave’s parents and Dave’s brother (my brother and sister-in-law celebrate with her family on that day), and Christmas Eve with the same people. Then the following day(s) we’d have the bash at my parents house.
While it wasn’t actually ending the repetition of the holidays, it was certainly a far cry from shlepping our children around the states. And I figured that the more Dave’s family and my family got together, the happier we’d all be.
(hey, if it worked for the song, right?)
Well, yeah. That didn’t work so well.
And I got tired of being the person who did all of the work only to sit uncomfortably around The Day Of, staring at my hands and wishing like hell that Alex would get up from his nap already.
So this year, we’re trying a break from even this arrangement: we’re breaking the holidays back up into individual family occasions, and those of whom we cannot visit–Dave’s parents–will go out to eat with us. I’m not hosting this Us vs Them showdown again any time soon, and quite frankly, I’m not certain I’ll ever do it again. Some people, I’m guessing, will just never get along.
(My parents are hippies, Dave’s are uber-conservative Christians).
It makes me sad, but it’s true. And in the name of laziness, I’m giving the hell up on it all.
I mean, shit, there are bigger issues out there right now. Like the Motrin Mom’s thing.
How do YOU do holidays with more than one family? Enlighten me, o wise Internet.