The Days of December

Nine days to go. It'll soon be Christmas Eve at our house, and my first son will be home from college. I think of how my second boy will have just one more Christmas with us, then he'll be on his own, too. I've got the third littlest still with me for a good chunk of years, but we all know what they say about time, and how it flies.

It's the thought of them, how this is their life, that fuels me. I feel bone weary this year, December has been a tough month for our nation and for our world. December is emotionally trying for me as it is, with the weight of loss of the ones no longer with us. When too much of the news on TV and radio start to feel like boulders on my back, I turn everything off and turn everything toward making life for my children.

Surprisingly, or not, I do December without a to-do list. I gave myself a pass on not keeping up with anything that magazines or the internet tell me I need, decades ago. I never had it in me, and I didn't see it growing up, so with that, I wouldn't notice if something was missing. Like expectations.

I meet the basics, a clean home, some juniper berries and cedar branches from the yard put around the stairs and front door, small gifts, and a prelit tree in the corner. This is good, and when I spend an hour adding twinkling lights around the fireplace, it's magical.

That's my style, and my family accepts it along with me. What they see others do, if it's going all out, they're fine with. I always hope that the people who do so much more than I do, do it because they feel the love for it. That it fills their tank to have their December be one that is full of splendor, in their eyes. With my whole heart, I hope it's done with no resentment, and that with each string of lights they put up, there's a sparkle of anticipation. I hope it's the joy of spreading cheer that propels them, and not the pressure of the season.

This is not to say I haven't had holiday seasons in my life where I've tried something that didn't feel natural to me. The year I had a subscription to Real Simple magazine (a gift from someone I think truly wanted me to be more like them) the theme was “Scandinavian Christmas.” Every room featured in the issue's pages were done in icy blue and glittery snow white. I tried it. I left the traditional red and green decorations from the Christmas years before packed away in the basement, and I went to a home decorating store and filled the back of the minivan with shimmering pale blues and sequined white branches. I drove everything home, pushed the house doors open, and then threw the whole scheme in the rooms. I looked around and felt like I was in someone else's house, one that was a chilly ice skating rink of an abode and left me muttering "Where's my sweater, I need my sweater."

Another year, I tried to do what I saw everyone else preparing to do at the grocery store, their shopping carts filled with 10 pound bags of flour and packs of 20 sticks of creamery butter. If children across America were going to have cookies for Christmas, then my children would too. After a weekend of baking and a constantly hot oven, I turned out a kitchen table-full of cookies on cooling racks. The product of all those hours of rolling and cutting were gone in two hours when my husband walked in through the door famished from work.

I've had lots of Christmas Year adventures where I spent time doing what I thought I was supposed to be. Like the year of collection displaying. I gathered small wooden Christmas trees and placed them atop the piano. I packed nutcrackers, big and small, and then carried them throughout the house, tucking them here and there. The kids didn't like nutcrackers in the bathroom, "I feel watched, mom." I had a year of miniature white Christmas tree candles, too. Kind of feels like you have double vision in Lilliput.

The year of the mini white Christmas trees was followed by the year of crackled silver glass, followed by the year of bunches of red berries tied to any protruding knobbed surface. I even held two holiday parties one year. Between cleaning the house and arranging the food, I was a stressed out disaster. Hostessing is not my in blood and I couldn't make myself like it no matter how loud the siren call from Real Simple's Holiday Table edition.

Through this entire process of trying on to see who I am for the holidays, I found out one thing. Who I am is someone who enjoys looking forward to the day in December where I see the smiles from being together and the delight in finding just the right gift. I'm someone who likes it slow, unhurried, with the day spread out before us and no one paying never no mind to any clock.

We have just two weeks left before the year ends. If we listen to what our hearts and bodies tell us, we'll strike the balance we need. Elf on a shelf, Secret Santa, or a minimalist season like me, it's your choice. Garland the heck out of it all, dip everything in glitter and sparkles, because it gives you joy. Or find contentment and satisfaction in a three feet bough set simply against the corner.

I only send wishes for you to be in the moments, and not feel like you should do more, haven't done enough, or that you've done too much. There should be no need to defend what feels right. Whether that means falling asleep with garland wrapped around your neck while you whisper Rudolph's name, or your family looks at their gifts and asks, "Hey, isn't that the wrapping paper from my birthday?" It's red, close enough.

Take care, my friends. Happy holidays to you.
*Clock just moved to midnight. Only eight days left until we're all together. 

xo

 

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