There is a strange stressful guilt I feel at Christmastime – I am unsatisfied with myself as a grownup. I don’t really feel Christmassy like I did as a child, and worry that somehow I’m selfish, or materialistic, or just wrong some way. I must not be the only one because movies are full of cranky people getting kinder because of music and lights.
I feel like it’s Christmas when we sing at church, when I read stories to the kids, not just Christmas stories, but Narnia, and Constance Savory’s The Reb and the Redcoats, when I get excited about knitting my mittens, or working on the China Scrapbook. But most of the time, I feel really harried and unappreciated.
Now, I know that Christmas is not necessary to the Christian life. There is no injunction to feel Christmas-y in scripture, there wasn’t even Christmas until Constantine. It is a celebration of the hero/baby coming, remembering the wonderful nativity, and making the most of a (at least in the Northern hemisphere) dark and gloomy time of year – and everyone loves a baby, and there is such good music to sing now, from all over the world. But Christmas is like Scooby Doo rolling down a hill and becoming a huge living snowball – so encrusted with expectations and tradition. And it’s the grownups who are supposed to make it happen. That makes me a substandard grownup, because it isn’t happening judging by the amount of yelling and complaining going on around here lately.
Today I set M up with a bowl of icing to decorate sugar cookies while B read to him (B is not really into crafts.) K then woke up, and got into the back hall closet I was trying to find decorations in. I sent her to her brothers, who promptly began to play ball with each other and her ball, and she wandered back to the closet with me. I yelled. They whined. The cookies are now safe in a plate in the freezer, the broken ones out where the family can eat them after supper. The stores of cookies in the freezer seem pitifully small, where did those 3 lbs of butter go? I did bring a plate to the party last night, and I have sent over 1/3 of the cookies baked to my mom’s house, but the goal of a nice assortment to bring out at special nights seems impossible. Once again I am thwarted.
All the kids are now watching a movie (DH found a huge box of DVDs in the trash, he washed them and disk doctored them, we aren’t sure why they were pitched.) The boxes of decorations are sitting out up out of K’s reach, I don’t want to try to hang them up without DH to keep K from climbing a ladder up after me.
I was going to leave the decorations in the closet as usual, but B has been hinting that he wants Christmas here at our house, not Grandma’s house. It’s not really fair to get grumpy at the kids for wanting things pretty, but not wanting to help, or being able to help. They are children after all, not my helpers. Maybe the German idea that mother sets up the parlor and the kids admire it later makes sense: they wouldn’t be underfoot while she decorated. I just feel bad that my kids don’t want to join in the ‘fun’ with me, they want me to do it for them.
I stayed out a bit too late at a mother’s party last night. (Yes, I’m sure that contributes to my grumpy-ness.) Everyone was telling birthing stories (no men about.) If each birth is each woman’s private Christmas, then perhaps I have actually been thinking Christmas-y. With the paperwork of a census, money tight, bad quarters, and a newborn (which always means little sleep for mom) Mary’s life must have made mine seem fabulously wealthy and convenient.
So how do I treasure things up in my heart, instead of fretting about how unappreciated and un-seasonable I feel?
I love this post, Christine– so thoughtful. I used to make a huge stink about getting to church on Christmas Eve (as a teenager, when my family just wanted to go to their friends' boozy party that I hated) and felt like it was never Christmas if I hadn't been.
My kids are in the snarky phase, too– yesterday we calmed it with an hour of vigorous swimming, but today it's back. I've been expecting them to participate in crafting so they could make each other (& grandparents) gifts, but they're frustrated that their efforts don't match their goals. I wonder if I ought to let them do extra chores to earn some money and have them draw names to give each other gifts. That way there'd be a little more energy spent on giving rather than what they're going to receive!
Blessings,
Annie