I love Christmas. Seriously. You know I mailed my much-obsessed-over cards the day before Thanksgiving (hey, the mail had already gone out, it was totally fair game) and of course my tree is up and shining two days later. And yet . . . I'm in a funk. If I'm not blog posting, you know it's bad. Help!
Possible reasons for my holiday funk and perhaps funks in general:
- Family drama. My mother canceled Christmas (again). This one is actually not that big of a deal since she always cancels Christmas. Truthfully, it's more of a holiday tradition to open our gifts in April once whatever it is has blown over. This time she's mad that I referred to myself as a "latch-key kid" a few posts ago. C'est la vie. By the way, is that an offensive term?
- Physical pain. I'm in my third trimester and it feels like I have perma-PMS. I'm a real delight!
- Bills. This one doesn't affect me so much since I spread my good cheer expenses over the course of the year. Yes, I did buy your gift last July but that just makes it a surprise for both of us when you unwrap it.
- Expectations. Ah. Here's my problem. My house is decked out in wreaths, lights, smoke men, shiny things, smelly things, bingbuzzlers and bamdoozelers. The mound of presents in my guest room and the scale of plans I have for Santa are tall indeed. I feel like each Christmas should be glitzier and grander than the last. Egg nog pancakes every Sunday! Dollops of cinnamon whipped cream on every morning coffee! Blasts of nothing but holiday tunes through the speakers and every moment must be spent gazing at greenery!
My poor husband. Every day he has off in December I've got him running to Christkindlemarkets and winter wonderlands large and small. Man. It's a real job to be cheery, you know?
Since I can't drink any spiked nog to take the edge off this holiday season, I think I'm going to work to scale back. Maybe we don't need to ride the holiday train
, stalk Santa at Macy's, hit the Wonderfest
, get our German on and ice skate
while pregnant with a toddler.
I feel happier already!
Christmas comes without boozing, smoking or shags!
Here is an artifact of my sis-boom-bah days uncovered from Indiana.
Gasp, I am not a natural platinum blond.