Preparing for Christmas

Year after year, I’ve noticed a disturbing trend taking place in the more anxiety-prone parts of my brain: Christmas is getting harder. As in harder to enjoy.

The thing is, I’m doing So! Many! Things! RIGHT! to dodge becoming the Grinch. Seriously, people. I’m really trying here. I stop decorating the tree to watch Lorelei get tangled in Christmas lights, her oh-so-freaking-adorable face aglow. I joyfully bounce along the tractor ride to pick our (two) Christmas trees. I try to view the Christmas magic through the bright eyes of my almost-four-year-old. Despite a cold and a house full of sick kin, I attend church by myself (okay, okay, I was scheduled for the scripture reading—for which I had to look up the proper pronunciation of “licentiousness,” because I’m one of those people who mispronounce words they’ve silently read a million times) and take seriously the early advent reminder to NOT GET CRUSHED BY HOLIDAY STRESS and keep my eye on the baby Jesus ball (promises fulfilled! grace! joy!). I’m ridiculously sentimental about Christmas, and I’m ridiculously sentimental about my girls, so I’m very actively soaking up each sweet moment.

Moments like these!

And this! She took tree decorating SO seriously.

But mommies have to do so much OTHER Christmas stuff, ya know? I keep finding myself wanting to return to the yuletide bliss of my childhood, but I have to work it in around colds (all of us), ear infections (Lorelei), 14 million holiday events, each of which require me to concoct a dish or baked item, a mountain of gifts to wrap, a big house to decorate, a birthday party for Charlotte to plan (damn January birthdays!), working full-time with the December mix of employee parties and deadlines, and so on.

Suddenly, I realized: I’ve always just been along for the ride, my expressions of Christmas post-high school exclusively for fun (you know, going to a Christmasy decked out Disneyland after finals, or getting a Christmas tree for our college dwelling and keeping it upright via yarn and suction cups attached to the window). Frankly, everyone else (Mom) made (Mom) Christmas (Mom) happen (Mom). 

My mom made Christmas MAGICAL and WONDER-FILLED, stuffed with tradition, music, goofiness, and joy. It needs its own blog post to adequately describe.

And now I’m the mommy. I have to MAKE CHRISTMAS.

Now, now, don’t go getting your Jesus-is-the-reason-for-the-season panties in a bunch. I know, womenfolk aren’t technically creating Christmas each year (but let’s give a shout-out to the Virgin Mary who literally did). Yet so much of what makes Christmas so special and lovely tends to come from the toil of women.

I don’t want to be a mommy growling at everyone on Christmas Eve because I’m so overwhelmed, so this year, I proposed some short cuts:

Simplification #1. Getting only one Christmas tree. Last year we did two for the first time, as our so-called “formal” living room has a bay window crying out for one, plus Chris imagined an idealistic tableau of himself sipping wine in the tree’s glow, watching his beloved wife flawlessly perform multiple Christmas piano pieces, all while the children slept—with visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads to the melodies of generated by their fair mother.

Reality? A newborn who didn’t sleep or tolerate being out of Mommy’s arms. And tree #2 took me 2 weeks to decorate. I was unprepared to play on Christmas Eve (Opp tradition), but we made a joke of it and my visiting family gamely cheered me on kerplunking through "The First Noel" and "What Child Is This?"

In the end, tree #2 wasn’t worth it. Chris, who (as you better believe I pointed out) didn’t decorate the tree, disagreed. “This year will be better,” he promised. He DID put on the lights, and he and my brother put in the stand, so that part WAS better. But I still haven’t finished decorating it.

Simplification #2. Refusing to bake rolls on Christmas Eve. I’m told I’ve already lost this battle, but I may dig in my heels. On Thanksgiving, I made 48 of my mom’s glorious rolls that Chris—and most others, myself included—adore. They’re good. They’re GREAT. They’re a frickin’ huge amount of work. Lobbying for kitchen, counter, and oven space while Chris et al. cook a holiday feast is tricky, and it also leaves our little ones unattended. (Charlotte can help measure, mix, knead, and roll, but that’s all, and Lorelei needs . . . supervision.) It’s stressful. It’s not fun.  

Now, when you live with a foodie who gourmets up EVERYTHING and finds that two ovens and six burners are insufficient for feeding 4 adults and 2 small children (Exhibit A, Thanksgiving), you’ve got a problem when you suggest skipping the homemade rolls. I still agreed to make the cranberry upside-down cake, because that is a tradition Chris and I created about 7 years ago. It’s important to me. But let’s skip the rolls.

Simplification #3. Give gifts early. I was putting together a plastic dinnerware and Rapunzel placemat gift for Lorelei, as she’s sitting at the table most of the time (secured in her booster). Then it occurred to me: I could just give this to her NOW and not wrap it. So I did.

Simplification #4. Coordinate tree cutting with having family in town for Thanksgiving (Tyler and Christine). This gives you extra hands with the tree as well as help with set up.

At the tree farm, hauling out both trees.

 

Simplification #5. Blog less. Sorry, Mom.

 

Simplification #6. Bake less. I decided against making tins or baskets full of baked goodies for Chris’s staff and instead gave him my blessing to spend as much as necessary to cater a lunch for them. Next, instead of making all the traditional cookies plus trying some new ones, I picked a crucial, can’t-live-without-it cookie (classic sugar cookies) to make with the kiddos, and a new one (lemon ricotta cookies) to flex my baking muscles. 

 

 Simplification #7. Live where it snows. Due to snow, I was unable to partake in the Nordstrom Holiday Party, which I was really looking forward to (oh, don't judge me, you anti-consumerist people! They close the store and ply you with champagne while you shop--wouldn't YOU go?). However, missing the party bought me more time to chill at home with the fam, watching football, having Charlotte help me pick out wrapping paper for Daddy's gift (Tinker Bell, if you're curious---"Mommy, he'll LOVE it," she said), and eating chili. I'm still sort of bummed, but hey. We made the most of it.

Honestly, though, my shortcut efforts haven't really paid off. I'm still wound up and feeling like some horrid "Mom the Martyr" cliche. I have no good answer here. Just because you KNOW how you should feel about Christmas and approach its season, you don't necessarily succeed.Which is sort of why I decided to draw on my Opp strength of ENDURING shit, buckling down to endure what I don't want to do (fold annual Christmas letters, stand in line at the post office, clean the post-baking kitchen) and snatching the Christmas happy when it comes.

And it does, just not in the OH MY GOSH I'M SO EXCITED FOR CHRISTMAS!!!!! giddiness of my childhood. Hearing Charlotte softly singing "Away in a Manger" to herself, finding a Little People figuring in the nativity scene's manger (or baby Jesus in the back of a play car, safely buckled in his car seat), settling into the rhythm of our own family traditions, or watching Charlotte experience that OH MY GOSH I'M SO EXCITED FOR CHRISTMAS!!!!! giddiness---well, it will do. The season is an emotionally charged, stress-inducing, weirdly joyful mix of ups and downs. We snatch the happy that we can and make sure the kiddos are awash in excitement and anticipation and joy.

The car where I found baby Jesus. And really, I just love this pic of Lorelei.

Being the tunnel for the train.