It’s Not My Favorite
It’s ok to say it. “Christmas is not my favorite holiday.”
Christmas, Cooking, Chaos, and Crabbiness. In my life, these four words would slide together like a match in the NYT Connections game. The category? It Happens Every Year.
During holiday gatherings, when I’m the one cooking dinner, grandchildren are not allowed in the kitchen. No hounding me about what’s being served or when it will be ready. After I’ve prepared all their plates, I gently remind them,
“If there is something on your plate you do not like, you are not allowed to say, ‘Yuck!, I hate this! or I don’t want this!’ If you don’t like it, you do not have to eat it; you can simply say, “It’s not my favorite.”
….Well, if I’m being honest, I don’t hate it but,
“Christmas is not my favorite holiday.”
The problem with Christmas.
I started preparing in October this year. December finally came. My house looked like Hallmark up-chucked its cheerfulness everywhere. All my checklists were on cue.
By December 20, I had gracefully orchestrated four separate family Christmas celebrations, all while having multiple migraines, COVID, the flu, and an ear infection.
Remarkably, there were worse years.
Many of my childhood Christmases felt extremely conflicting, being tossed between my parents, a mixture of sadness and wanting.
In 1991, my family grieved the loss of a loved one who was shockingly murdered a week before Christmas. There has not been another holiday that disheartening. Yet, it was a challenge to find the spirit of the holiday in the years that followed.
Seemingly, I continue to try and pull off that special magic. Why? Perhaps it is because I want the people I care about to have what I didn’t always have. Still, family and friends aren’t the only reason I do it.
I also long for the spiritual connection behind all of Christmas’s glory. I seek traditional practices of the season that provide meaning.
This Christmas, I mindfully observed the blessings.
It brought a smile to my face when our two-year-old granddaughter ran past me in a game of Zombie tag with her cousins and said, “Stay safe, Grandma; I will protect you.”
I sighed in relief when, instead of screaming at the table, our very defiant four-year-old grandson said, “Red grapes are not my favorite.”
Our other granddaughter hugged me tight, crying because she loved me so much she didn’t want to leave. This melted my heart. One of the greatest joys was the twinkle in our six-year-old grandson’s eye while decorating the tree, the pride of it being his job to set up the train, and his excitement to give me the present he picked especially for me. It made all my extra effort toward Christmas worth it.
Other moments in December warmed my ailing heart.
My husband brought home-cooked meals to me in bed. I loved the tiny knocks at my locked bedroom door followed by whispers of, ‘Hi, Grandma.’
Then, our grandsons surprised me with gleeful waves at my bedroom window. It was nice to hear our son’s genuine thank you for the things I did to help him while I was still feeling sick. In time, I healed and was able to experience the joy brought to our daughter as we baked and decorated Christmas cookies together with her children for the first time.
I missed weeks of work when I was ill and truly appreciated the amazing kindness from my boss. Also, the pharmacist and nurse managed to get my migraine medication filled through my insurance despite the doctor being out until the new year. A Christmas miracle, in my opinion, considering it would have cost me $2,000 out of pocket.
It’s amazing how much more peaceful the kids’ table was with a different perspective. Broccoli may not be your favorite food but smothered in cheese, you might like it, and just knowing you don’t have to eat it makes it tolerable on your plate.
Some of the Christmas traditions I love won’t happen until January 2024. With COVID, I didn’t get my Christmas cards mailed, so I ordered Happy New Year’s cards instead. I’ll wait to deliver the jars of applesauce I canned as gifts to extended family, friends, and co-workers. When it all happens isn’t what’s important.
It’s letting people know they’re important to me.
In the past, I’ve felt the pressure of Christmas carol, ‘It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.’ Now, I permit myself not to like everything Christmas puts on my plate, and I am relieved of the pressure to love it.
Even though it isn’t my favorite holiday, I could never go without it. Christmas is the joy of giving, and the star that leads me to hope for better days to come.
