One Christmas a couple of years ago, Chris and I decided that we wanted to get away from just spending a lot of money and find what it was that made the holiday special for our family. No offense to you Christians out there, but we are not members of your faith, and please don’t fill my message board or inbox with “Jesus is the reason for season” arguments. I’ve heard them all. Tried them all. I am not interested. Quit reading if you are offended. For the almost 30% of Americans who are either not Christians or are religious “nones” (of which there are currently 22.8 percent of Americans who self-identify as “nones”), why do we celebrate Christmas?
In an effort to answer this question, we decided that for one year, we would physically make (like craft with our hands from scratch) each and every gift we gave. While the finished products were nothing short of a Pinterester’s wet dream, the process was extremely expensive (about 20 percent costlier than the year before), and I am not sure that we really captured the elusive Christmas spirit.
It was nice to spend time thinking about each other and then turning those thoughts into something each of us could hold and touch in our hands, but we were all badly burned from the glue gun and had safety pin holes in our thighs, not to mention we were dog tired. I think Chris sliced open his hand 10 times attempting to whittle his gift for Ben. The dog later ate that gift washed in Chris' blood. I failed to finish about a dozen projects and gave an uncompleted blanket to Lily and told her to finish it herself (I said it nicely). We did make good memories that Christmas, and we will always be able to compare our battle scars, but I was disappointed in my inability to really get into the holiday spirit, not to mention all of those wonderful gifts I did not manage to finish for which I had bought more than enough supplies still haunt me like the Spirit of Failed Christmas Past. I didn't find the meaning of Christmas that year, not really. Again, no Jesus remarks. All kinds of folks get into Christmas without believing in virgin births.
While talking with a friend today, she said that the hardest part about parenthood is managing her expectations of what she would like to get done with what is possible for a human to accomplish. That made me think about all the times when I was the most overwhelmed, including now. When family and friends felt we should find a church, we tried every flavor of Jesus out there. It just created confusion and sparked arguments. When Chris and I were going through a separation, we both listened to what friends and family told us and it was terrible guidance. When Lily threw monstrous fits as a child and family thought we should spank her more, I caved to public opinion and hit her. It NEVER made it better. When Thomas wouldn’t talk, I listened to everyone else’s “advice” on how to fix him. Turns out, he was never broken. He talks just fine, thank you. Joe needs so much attention and redirection at almost every moment of his waking day. Luckily, I now know he doesn’t need a beating (I’m sorry we had to learn that by messing it up with the first two children), he just needs time to mature (I didn't mention Ben because has been a really easy kid. He doesn’t stress us out). That does not mean that it is easy or that I always handle it beautifully. It means that I now know when to tell other people to shove it, and it gets easier every day. My marriage survived because both Chris and I shut everyone else out of the conversation and we saved our marriage on our own.
Why should I treat Christmas any differently? Everyone keeps telling me how I should love this time of year, like that annoying habit people have of telling you to smile when you are clearly not smiling for a damn good reason and are entitled to make your face match the disgust, irritation or sadness you actually feel. I think my dislike for Christmas bothers others because it makes them feel uncomfortable seeing it. Shoving gingerbread and tinsel down my throat in an attempt to get my feelings in line with what is socially acceptable to feel about Christmas is their way of saying, “You sure are prettier when you smile.” So, my response is, “Fuck off.” I can Bah Humbug all I want.
The idea of having Christmas joy is so intricately entangled in our Western culture that we run up thousands of dollars in debt and trip over ourselves pretending to be charitable to appear to have it. People literally hang themselves in droves this time of year because they can't seem find it. I'm afraid that even my declaration of “fuck off” won’t be strong enough to stop the onslaught of elves and angels that attack us all this time of the year.
And if one more person suggests that visiting the Christmas markets in Germany will magically cheer us up, even as we approach our third month in the hotel and are struggling to emotionally survive here, I may lose my Glühwein all over them. All six of the markets we visited in an attempt to drum up jolly were nice, if you enjoy walking miles in the freezing rain from the train station through ankle-deep mud and hoards of people competing for space under the one awning available in dilapidated castles. Maybe next year it won't rain constantly and we will be able to appreciate them more. Maybe next year we will finally locate that Holiday cheer. Don't hold your breath for either.
Our society needs to find their inner Scrooge, not the miser, employee-abusing asshole Scrooge, but the guy who just doesn’t care for all of that false merry making. Let’s face it though, at the end of that book the Spirit of Christmas Future threatened Scrooge with a lonely death for not liking the holiday. We Grinches may never win this battle.
You see, I don’t like Christmas (if you did not already pick up on that subtlety). I never have. As a kid, I picked up on how stressed out all of the adults were during the holidays (they were Christians, by the way. That fact did not make their Christmas any more merry or bright), and I was always relieved when it was over because life could get back to normal. No more exhausting trips up and down the attic stairs with boxes of decorations. No more dancing the divorced-parents’ shuffle between families and houses. No more lukewarm finger foods or wearing pinching, patent-leather Mary Jane’s. No more reciting of The Night Before Christmas. No more lectures about manners and the fancy hand towels. No more watching my Nana and Aunt Karen struggle to pay the mortgage while also trying to buy us kids each something special. No more guilt trips about Jesus’ sacrifice for my pitiful soul.
Christmas is hard. It is impossible to manage our expectations during this time, and we never feel adequate to meet the expectations of others. Our "failings" are never more apparent than at Christmas. Everything is expensive, and difficult, and on display at, like, a million different parties and gatherings we feel obligated to attend, dragging our tired, overwhelmed children and cranky spouses behind us.
So, like with other uninvited instructions, I need to recognize that other people’s ideas of how I should embrace the Christmas spirit are just as useless as their parenting and marriage advice.
FYI-if you have been married less time than I have (almost 20 years) or have kids younger than mine (18), I will cut you if you offer unsolicited advice on either topic.
Merry Christmas, folks.
In an effort to answer this question, we decided that for one year, we would physically make (like craft with our hands from scratch) each and every gift we gave. While the finished products were nothing short of a Pinterester’s wet dream, the process was extremely expensive (about 20 percent costlier than the year before), and I am not sure that we really captured the elusive Christmas spirit.
It was nice to spend time thinking about each other and then turning those thoughts into something each of us could hold and touch in our hands, but we were all badly burned from the glue gun and had safety pin holes in our thighs, not to mention we were dog tired. I think Chris sliced open his hand 10 times attempting to whittle his gift for Ben. The dog later ate that gift washed in Chris' blood. I failed to finish about a dozen projects and gave an uncompleted blanket to Lily and told her to finish it herself (I said it nicely). We did make good memories that Christmas, and we will always be able to compare our battle scars, but I was disappointed in my inability to really get into the holiday spirit, not to mention all of those wonderful gifts I did not manage to finish for which I had bought more than enough supplies still haunt me like the Spirit of Failed Christmas Past. I didn't find the meaning of Christmas that year, not really. Again, no Jesus remarks. All kinds of folks get into Christmas without believing in virgin births.
While talking with a friend today, she said that the hardest part about parenthood is managing her expectations of what she would like to get done with what is possible for a human to accomplish. That made me think about all the times when I was the most overwhelmed, including now. When family and friends felt we should find a church, we tried every flavor of Jesus out there. It just created confusion and sparked arguments. When Chris and I were going through a separation, we both listened to what friends and family told us and it was terrible guidance. When Lily threw monstrous fits as a child and family thought we should spank her more, I caved to public opinion and hit her. It NEVER made it better. When Thomas wouldn’t talk, I listened to everyone else’s “advice” on how to fix him. Turns out, he was never broken. He talks just fine, thank you. Joe needs so much attention and redirection at almost every moment of his waking day. Luckily, I now know he doesn’t need a beating (I’m sorry we had to learn that by messing it up with the first two children), he just needs time to mature (I didn't mention Ben because has been a really easy kid. He doesn’t stress us out). That does not mean that it is easy or that I always handle it beautifully. It means that I now know when to tell other people to shove it, and it gets easier every day. My marriage survived because both Chris and I shut everyone else out of the conversation and we saved our marriage on our own.
Why should I treat Christmas any differently? Everyone keeps telling me how I should love this time of year, like that annoying habit people have of telling you to smile when you are clearly not smiling for a damn good reason and are entitled to make your face match the disgust, irritation or sadness you actually feel. I think my dislike for Christmas bothers others because it makes them feel uncomfortable seeing it. Shoving gingerbread and tinsel down my throat in an attempt to get my feelings in line with what is socially acceptable to feel about Christmas is their way of saying, “You sure are prettier when you smile.” So, my response is, “Fuck off.” I can Bah Humbug all I want.
The idea of having Christmas joy is so intricately entangled in our Western culture that we run up thousands of dollars in debt and trip over ourselves pretending to be charitable to appear to have it. People literally hang themselves in droves this time of year because they can't seem find it. I'm afraid that even my declaration of “fuck off” won’t be strong enough to stop the onslaught of elves and angels that attack us all this time of the year.
And if one more person suggests that visiting the Christmas markets in Germany will magically cheer us up, even as we approach our third month in the hotel and are struggling to emotionally survive here, I may lose my Glühwein all over them. All six of the markets we visited in an attempt to drum up jolly were nice, if you enjoy walking miles in the freezing rain from the train station through ankle-deep mud and hoards of people competing for space under the one awning available in dilapidated castles. Maybe next year it won't rain constantly and we will be able to appreciate them more. Maybe next year we will finally locate that Holiday cheer. Don't hold your breath for either.
Our society needs to find their inner Scrooge, not the miser, employee-abusing asshole Scrooge, but the guy who just doesn’t care for all of that false merry making. Let’s face it though, at the end of that book the Spirit of Christmas Future threatened Scrooge with a lonely death for not liking the holiday. We Grinches may never win this battle.
You see, I don’t like Christmas (if you did not already pick up on that subtlety). I never have. As a kid, I picked up on how stressed out all of the adults were during the holidays (they were Christians, by the way. That fact did not make their Christmas any more merry or bright), and I was always relieved when it was over because life could get back to normal. No more exhausting trips up and down the attic stairs with boxes of decorations. No more dancing the divorced-parents’ shuffle between families and houses. No more lukewarm finger foods or wearing pinching, patent-leather Mary Jane’s. No more reciting of The Night Before Christmas. No more lectures about manners and the fancy hand towels. No more watching my Nana and Aunt Karen struggle to pay the mortgage while also trying to buy us kids each something special. No more guilt trips about Jesus’ sacrifice for my pitiful soul.
Christmas is hard. It is impossible to manage our expectations during this time, and we never feel adequate to meet the expectations of others. Our "failings" are never more apparent than at Christmas. Everything is expensive, and difficult, and on display at, like, a million different parties and gatherings we feel obligated to attend, dragging our tired, overwhelmed children and cranky spouses behind us.
So, like with other uninvited instructions, I need to recognize that other people’s ideas of how I should embrace the Christmas spirit are just as useless as their parenting and marriage advice.
FYI-if you have been married less time than I have (almost 20 years) or have kids younger than mine (18), I will cut you if you offer unsolicited advice on either topic.
Merry Christmas, folks.
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