I have a confession to make. A confession so naughty that I am sure I will wake up to coal in my stocking on Christmas morning. Here it goes: I feel very indifferent toward the Holidays this year.
As I type this I can hear Buddy the Elf saying, “That’s shocking.” And really it is. I adore Christmas; usually by now I have most of my shopping done so as to avoid the rush (in my defense the kids’ presents are already stashed in the attic); in most years past I would be drooling over the thought of our family’s Thanksgiving feast. This year I’m having a terrible time finding where that anticipation has gone to.
For a while I thought my difficulty was stemming from the fact that I didn’t need to wear a winter coat until about one week ago: it is hard to feel Christmas-y in a t-shirt. And then I wondered if all the time and work that I was putting into my Etsy shop was sucking the Joy from my system. Too much housework, too many errands, not enough time for the kids.
I have been listening to Christmas music for a month now. It’s making me happy, but not making me feel like sitting down and actually writing out a gift list for anyone other than the kids, or picking a time to do our family photo. This year has been a tough one- likely the toughest of my young life- and I think I just might have misplaced my Christmas cheer somewhere along the way.
Or it could be that I’m just now finding my Christmas spirit after all of these years. Suddnely, I don’t care so much for gift giving or receiving: I just want to spend time with the people I love. I don’t want so much fuss and complication: I want to relax. Maybe when I wake up on Christmas morning I won’t find black coal after all, but a plethora of wonderful, relaxing warm and fuzzy memories just waiting to be made.
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