The weeks and days leading up to Christmas found me growing more and more reluctant to celebrate it. After all, it's not really the day Jesus was born. It's a pagan holiday the Christians decided to adopt as their own to witness to those who've never heard of Jesus. Plus, I try to celebrate Jesus every day. 'Try' being the operative word. Christmas to me has become a time when my kids get to be greedy for useless (euphemism) and I have to come up with my own wish list so I don't get useless (euphemism). It's touching commercials on TV so I'll buy their useless (euphemism) and decorating contests to make me spend money on useless (euphemism). It's wasting my time putting up a tree only to come back down three weeks later, leaving a huge dried up mess on my living room floor. It's my bank account slowly emptying due to poor budgeting and barely affording the gas to make the obligatory trip to Colville and back.
When I was a child I absolutely loved Christmas! Mainly because I got to be greedy for useless (euphemism), but also because my mom loved it. I remember Burl Ives on the record player and A Very Special Christmas compilation album on cassette. Our stockings would start filling weeks before and of course we had the fun tradition of helping decorate the tree. Every year I got a new ornament for my very own and I remember my brother and I trying to guess the wrapped presents under the tree (a skill I became very good at). I wasn't taught to believe in Santa Clause, but we still had our Santa traditions. My parents would place unwrapped presents under the tree Christmas eve after we'd all gone to bed. The purpose...to occupy the early risers while Mom and Dad slept. Presents weren't allowed to be opened until Mom and Dad drank their coffee, we had eaten a complete breakfast with eggs and bacon and hashbrowns, and the table was cleared and dishes were done. Then the passing out of presents, and the orderly opening of them one at a time starting with either oldest to youngest, or vice versa. And never did we open all our presents on Christmas eve like all my friends did, like I always begged. Only one was allowed to be opened the night before. Same goes for baby Jesus in our nativity scene. He didn't appear till Christmas morning.
In my cynical bitterness two nights ago I realized how lucky I'd been as a child. I have only one memory of spending Christmas with extended family. Every other Christmas through childhood and adolescence consisted only myself, Mom and Dad, and brother (who of course moved away and was replaced with various foster children). How does that make me lucky? My parents went to such great lengths to create memories for us. I was reminded of this when my niece, Madeline, called yesterday morning and my mother answered, "Merry Christmas ho ho ho!" To which Maddy replied in like manner. I then called my brother, James, who answered his phone, "Merry Christmas ho ho ho!" To which I replied in like manner. A Dad Wilson-honored tradition. With my own children, I started out with great intentions, wanting to pass down the great traditions and memories my mom and dad gave me except they had all the trimmings of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins every year! I filled the stockings, did my best to get them ornaments, remembered to hold presents from wrapping, and definitely, most definitely had to give them as many presents as my brother and I had under the tree.
Enter bitter ungratefulness.
I got a divorce and soon faced Christmas alone. What happened to all those gifts carefully wrapped and appreciated? All over. All. Over. ALL OVER. Everywhere! The benefits of having extended family so close also means CRAPLOADS of CRAP! I love that my children can be blessed with things that I can't afford to get, but where the (EUPHEMISM) do I put it all? I don't have time to sift through all their old things like I used to and purge what they no longer play with. Getting the tree out and lighting it is no longer special when there's no dad there to help...it's IRRITATING. And my perfectionism only squelches their decorating creativity. "No, don't put it there that's too close. No, no that doesn't go on yet! Sigh...just let me do it." The only reason I get it out is to satisfy them! And who gets to bring it down and put all the cra...stuff away? Me! Yes that's right! You're right! You guessed absolutely right! This Christmas Eve found me with a glass of wine, sitting on facebook, procrastinating the snacks I'd bought to fill their stockings (to fill their appetite during the obligatory trip to Colville where the real stockings from my mother were waiting). Christmas had turned into one expensive day of obligation. And I was hating it. I went to bed in my daughters' room (by their request) and woke with a stiff neck and back (not the greatest mattress).
My children had emptied their stockings and were waiting for me to empty mine. Chloe had noticed prior to "the" day that I never fill my own stocking. She decided to make her own presents and partnered with my mom to fill it this year. I took it off its hook and prepared the performance of emptying it and looking excited and surprised. My mom had put cute Christmas earrings inside and Chloe had taped some papers together to make a book. So I guess I should read it right there because that would make her happy. So I did. So I will copy the exact words (with correct spelling) for you.
The title: Your Family! (With picture of me, Elijah, Isabelle, and Chloe)
Page 1: Your family is there for you, no matter what you do. (A heart in the middle of the page and a picture of me with a lawn mower and a girl with a toy mower)
Page 2: Your family is there for you at night. (Two people looking up at the stars with one saying "look")
Page 3: Your family is there in the morning. (Two people sitting at a table eating cereal)
Page 4: The most important thing about your family is...They love you!!! (picture of me and the kids again)
Page 5: The End!! (Happy Christmas written inside a heart)
Along with the book was another picture that read "I love you no matter what you do!" With a picture of Chloe and me inside a heart. Something we often say to each other.
Well, needless to say, my Scrooge was melting away. The drive to Colville was tolerable and as soon as we walked in the house the warm memories of why I ever loved Christmas had returned. The stockings, the "Santa" gifts, breakfast cooking on the stove, the kids playing Santa and handing out the gifts. We opened them youngest to oldest this time and Elijah cracked us up every time it was his turn. I had a wonderful day. Some day, instead of hurrying to get to my mom's Christmas, I'll be able to give the children my own Christmas. Until then, I get to appreciate the memories I have and they are making.
And now I get to sift through all the crap they no longer use to make room for all the new crap.
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