Confessions of an Overzealous Christmas Early Decorator

I must confess, I decorate for Christmas BEFORE Thanksgiving. Yes, I am ONE OF THOSE. The reindeer are out. The Santa Clauses are out. Everything is out of the closet.

No longer do I feel the overwhelming need to explain in the hopes of forgiveness. Indeed, unless you are paying my mortgage (and since Clemson was kind enough to send the Spring semester tuition bill this week, do feel free to contribute), truly - AIN'T NONE OF YOUR BEESWAX.

Despite saying that, and because it makes for a more lengthy blog, I will explain how I came to this state. Though part of me is explaining because writing the blog is more appealing then figuring out how to decorate the buffet in the dining room this year.

We have only eaten Thanksgiving dinner at our own home once in the twenty-four years we have been together. And we have lived within the confines of a one day trip to and from family, over the hills, and through the woods, exactly never. So every trip for Thanksgiving has consisted of at least half a day in the car going, and another half a day trip coming home. To say the sleeping arrangements have not been very comfortable would be an understatement, and in that statement let me say, that was true on both sides of the family - mine, and his.

Now - imagine a woman trying valiantly to imitate those skinny models they hire for the holiday commercials. The ones who are SUPPOSED to look like a wife and mother. I smile (too brightly), and announce after a long trip, "Yeah! Time to put up our tree, and decorations. How exciting!" Let me just give a few very common responses:

"Ugh,"
"Do we have to?"
"Can't you do it without us? We don't know where you want that stuff."
"You know, I think the house looks fine without it."
"We're tired."
"My stomach doesn't feel good."
"How long is this gonna take?"

I could go on - but many of you have heard the same. Those who haven't, y'all probably don't feel like you need a Valium after watching holiday commercials.

Many years ago, I stumbled upon putting everything up before we ever left. No one was burned out yet or exhausted. We had more time to enjoy it. Sort of like wearing your wedding dress for more then just the ceremony. We would come home, plug in the lights, and watch football.  We still wait to take it down after New Year's. But that's what works for us. Even now that we no longer have so many places to go for Thanksgiving, still putting it up. I love football, I want to watch it, too. 

And one more point about those endless holiday commercials with the perfect families - THOSE PEOPLE AIN'T RELATED TO EACH OTHER. I guarantee you that each one of those actors has some bat crap crazy relations, too.

And that gets me to the point of the blog - the holidays shouldn't be so dang stressful. If you want to decorate now - do it. If you want to eat Chinese, and watch Netflix - do it. If you want to say Happy Holidays and not Merry Christmas - do it.  Each family should be able to do what works for them. The rest of us should chill, and not focus on criticizing such simple actions. Not when Paris is attacked, and Brussels is forced to lock itself up.

So from me to all of you - Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, y'all be blessed. 

Suffering From Failure to Launch?

Forget the clock and just give me a white flag to hoist up the pole. I can’t seem to do anything in a timely manner at home. I’ll have keys in hand and be ready to hit the door only to have my son remind me that I was supposed to do something, or that I really should stay home and do the night-night routine. I’ll run up the stairs to get my glasses only to pick up the discarded shoes, socks and the new roll of toilet paper that didn't make it up the stairs in the first place, and put them away. Half an hour later I still won’t have my glasses and I’ll be in the laundry room loading the dryer. I suffer from failure to launch what I need to launch, when I need to launch it.

I come by it honestly. At some point after age 60 my mother stopped worrying about when the Christmas decorations went up, and when they came down. One year when my Aunt Magdalene was visiting my mother, she called their sister, my Aunt Kathleen, and told her it was so beautiful being at my mother’s house. Everything was always so beautiful to Aunt Magdalene. Her rich European accent would have you spell bound, believing that even the New Jersey Turnpike was a thing of beauty. The conversation between them went something like this:

Aunt Magdalene: “Oh ya! It is all so lovely.”

Aunt Kathleen: “Are the flowers still in bloom there?”

Aunt Magdalene: “Oh ya, ya, and the Christmas tree is so beautiful!”

Aunt Kathleen: “Christmas Tree? What are you talking about? It’s JULY!”

Yes, it was July and Mama had decided enough was enough. She kept the eight foot tall, fake, flocked, Christmas tree up all year that year; occasionally dusting around it. She didn't care what anyone thought. When the heat of the summer seemed to stifle all the spirit out of you, she’d light the tree. Fake as it was, it pulled you back to where the days were crisp and the warm glow of home prevailed.

Maybe I need a fake, flocked Christmas tree. At this point I’m willing to try anything to get things off the ground, or to have some semblance of a schedule. I should be in bed around ten every evening, but I usually hit the sheets around 11:30 or later. I wash a dish, or fold a load of clothes, or see a chin hair or two that needs plucking, or a button that needs to be sewn on. Making my way to bed becomes an obstacle course of things that I didn't get to in the day. Mornings are worse. It’s all the above, done in a breathless rush between hugs, and goodbyes, and where the hell are my glasses! I make it into work by the skin of my teeth, panting and disheveled. It’s a frightening sight.

Now that Christmas is just around the corner, I’m struggling with boxes full of decorations. My five-year-old son is full of enthusiasm, wanting every decoration out for the entire world to see. I try to be upbeat and smile, well, it looks more like a grimace or maybe it looks more like someone who got hit up with too much Botox, but I try. Maybe I’ll take the decorations down this year, and maybe I won’t, but first I’d like to get them all up, after I find my glasses.