December, 2005 - too tired for Christmas

December, 2005

For those who know me, many would be well aware that I love the Christmas season. My hope chest was half full of ornaments I had collected from around the world and I could hardly wait to have my own tree. I baked my little heart out making enough sugar cookies, million-dollar bars, peanut butter squares and making gazoodles of caramels, toffee, and any other sugary temptation to cover what is easily the world’s largest tray. I would always spend the year on the lookout for gifts – just the right one for everyone on my list.

As one of the church pianists, I also had Christmas rehearsals and programs. Kids had band concerts and parades. Gift buying, wrapping and exchanging filled in the empty nooks and crannies of time. As the years flew by, the quantity (and quality) of the decorations also increased. Every surface showed off another bauble which reflected the twinkling lights of the tree. But the family also grew during those years, each one bringing another list of teachers, friends, and acquaintances to buy for. Last year the decorating extravaganza culminated in our house being on the Chez Noel tour (a holiday tour for a local charity). I went so far as to iron my kids’ sheets, threatening any who even looked at their beds. I hired a man to come put up garlands and wreaths and a monster tree. I hauled out every decoration that I owned and added new to my nativity set collection.

Then something happened. I got busy. Or rather, I realized I had been busy and decided I didn’t like it. I gave (gasp!) purchased rather than homemade gifts to all of my kids’ teachers. And a post-forty diet pretty much scaled the cooking to a couple of batches of caramels. Last year, Mike took me to Hawaii for a few days after the cantatas and Chez Noel tour thingy were done. As I sat on that gorgeous isle, tropical breezes blowing through my brain, I decided there was something to this lifestyle that I liked.

This year, Mike and I had a large trip to Asia in November. Before leaving I scheduled my garland-slinger guy to come do his thing two days after our return. As we rubbed the jet lag out of our eyes, Mike hauled up box after box from the basement and I tried putting a few things out. Normally I would have had the guy decorate our nice tree too (after last year’s Holiday Tour, we now have a kids’ tree in the basement and the “department store” tree in the living room). But in the interest of time and money, we sent him on his way after he wrapped the purple fabric through the tree branches, leaving the ornaments to us.

As Mike and I surveyed the scene - boxes, tissue paper, half-done tree – I was suddenly overcome with a serious case of apathy. I didn’t give a rip. Turning to Mike, I said, “Looks good enough to me. How about you?” Amazingly, he agreed.

Unfortunately, there were five others who thought they had a vote. “What about the big manger scene, Mom?” my romantic dreamer asked.

“Here’s the boxes. Go for it,” I replied as I mentally placed myself under a palm tree.

“What about the stockings? And the pretty snowman pillows? And the kids’ tree?” others flung at me.

“Have at it.” I nodded toward more boxes even as the tropical breezes enveloped my mind.

“Does this mean you’re not going to bake either?” a particularly interested boy asked.

“Sorry,” I replied. “I’m dieting. It’ll be bare minimum. And only the stuff I don’t like.” My thoughts floated back to candlelight gourmet meals on beach-side terraces with waiters tripping over themselves to fill my water glass.

“But, Mom, we’ve gotta get gifts for our school teachers,” one said.

“And my music teacher,” another added.

“And the lunch lady,” my boy put in.

“OK. So we’ll do gifts. But really I don’t feel like doing any more.” I dragged my mental images back to this reality and, with sheer will, set them in place.

And so it was. We hosted eighteen for Thanksgiving with half-emptied boxes strewn all over. And until yesterday, there’s been no music because our stereo has been broken. You’d think the soothing sounds of carols would bolster my lack of desire. But they haven’t. It took some more guests to get me to put out the collection of mangers from around the world. And that was only because I made them work too. There’s more dear friends coming for Christmas day itself, but to be honest, I’m struggling. Not with the friends coming – I could sit with them all day and visit. But with the fact that I can’t sit all day and visit. For me, canned soup would be a viable option, but reality is that it’ll probably be ham. And potatoes. And sweet potatoes. And veggies. And rolls. And desert. I’m ready to take down the decorations and I haven’t even preheated my oven yet.

I could go on and on about the “real” meaning of Christmas, that you don’t really need the trees and gifts, etc. But I don’t want to because, frankly, all of the fluff is part of Christmas. Americans have so few celebratory holidays, and even though the candy, trees, malls, and UPS lines have nothing to do with the religious aspect of Christmas, like it or not, those are part of this nation’s traditions.

So what does God want of us during these hectic holidays? Personally, I think He wants us to thoroughly enjoy ourselves – whether we are in line at the mall buying something for someone that we love; or whether we are biting into a chunk of calories that we really don’t need; or whether we are climbing precarious ladders to put up lights for our beloved –even though they are coming down again in less than a month – only because she enjoys them. Why? Because He gives us all things richly to enjoy. Including beaches.

So next year I’m thinking Christmas in Hawaii. Maybe I could get my kids to build a sandcastle-style crèche.

Like a rock,

The Submissive Despot

Amy