Will it shock you to hear that I love Christmas? Or that you love Christmas? Or that most people in the world who believe in this sort of thing and are not dead inside have at least a warm spot for Christmas?
I love the hustle and bustle of shopping and rubbing elbows with people who smile more than usual. I love the roasted cinnamon nuts and the gingerbread, the smell of the tree–because my children would lynch me if I ever brought home a fake tree–and the traditional dragging out of all the decorations I've been collecting since before I got married, then burrowing through 800 metric tons of tissue paper to find them. Followed by the search for one or two that somehow wound up in the Easter box. Plus the re-gluing of the third Wiseman's oil lamp which mysteriously falls off every year.
And finally, the pièce de Résistance: spending the morning hurling snow with my kids until our cheeks are frozen pink and our gloves are stiff. Then coming back inside to drink hot chocolate with a peppermint stick, or mulled cider, and feeling the little happiness of warm-drink spreading through our chests and out to the rest of our bodies. Ohhhhhhhyeaaaaahhhhhh.
But baby, it's gotten hairy outside at Christmas time. People don't rub elbows so much as get pointy with them. Merry streets filled with happy travelers listening to Christmas carols on their local easy-listenin' radio station has become a slog of impatience and honking and stress. And then there's the commercialism: the stores where Christmas was lined up side by side with Jack Sparrow, Harry Potter, and Batman Halloween costumes.
Ack! Where did the joy go?
This year I've decided that it's still there. I've just got to do a little work to find it. So I keep carols on my iPod and hum along on the treadmill in the mornings. We've gone to some free Christmas pageants, and just last night took the kids to see "White Christmas." There are lighted outdoor malls, and local musicians offer all sorts of free Christmas music. My favorite around here? A slew of Messiah sing-ins. Yep. It's B.Y.O.M.S (Bring Your Own Messiah Score), show up at the venue, and Hallelujah your guts out along with everyone else. There's usually an orchestra and soloists, and G.F. Händel himself couldn't do better. Probably.
As for all the baking, this year I am going to talk to a few friends and see about going in together on treat plates. So instead of killing ourselves baking six different things over and over again, we'll each bake a whole lot of two. Or three. But probably two. Then we'll get together and make a party out of loading up the plates and taking them around. Major stress-reducer.
Christmas cards? I may not this year. Like I didn't last year. And the year before. But this year I'm going to not freak out if it doesn't happen. And for presents, I've been looking around for local artisans. My good friend Robin, of Rurification fame, makes a mean all-natural scented soap/hand woven washcloth gift set for a mere $15. I've ordered a few (none of which were given to me for free to say this. I said it because I mean it.). They are lovely, natural, it helps her out, and I can order them from my home. I like that. All of it. It gives me peace.
This year we're keeping it simple. And we're trying to notice the lovely Christmas-y things that are sitting all around us. It blocks out the noise and makes everything quieter and sweeter. I can hear my kids better. And my husband better. My friends better. And myself as well.
Tidings of Comfort and Joy, my people. Got any simplification ideas? I'd love to hear them
I hear ya. I put my youngest in charge of the decorating. All I have to do is make sure the house is clean and presents are bought. The kids are doing the wrapping. Yay!
I’d like to experience some of the joy of the season this year.