It’s the season of joy…….or at least it’s supposed to be, but each day as we open another window on the advent calendar, something inside me has been winding tighter and tighter. I’ve been mulling this over for days now. I have a healthy, beautiful family, I have a nice house, a great job, I really have nothing to complain about, but somewhere along the road the joy of Christmas seems to have drained away only to be left with to-do lists, receipts and a vague feeling that something is missing.
Christmas was always a huge time of excitement for me, a time when I’d get to see loved ones, take some time out ,and most of all have a lot of fun. As a child I loved Christmas, loved the tiny little things that my parents did that created the magic- the little felt pictures that were sewn on my stocking each year, brandy-snapping and fondues on Christmas Eve with the neighbours, early morning cryptic clues leading us in a trail around the house to find hidden presents. I got older and started going out- the best clubs and parties were always Christmas and New Years and no matter where we were, at college or University my brother and I would come home at Christmas, visiting the local Indian Restaurant after the pub and then staggering home to wrap up presents together, giggling in the early hours.
In our early twenties my brother and I moved to Toronto and would host our annual lost souls Christmas dinner for all our family-less friends. We started to make our own Christmas traditions, with girlfriends and boyfriends who became wives and husbands. We got serious jobs and houses and mortgages. And then along came the babies. These are all good things, of course. There is no question about how much my two little children have added to my life, but, and I admit that I am sometimes worried about saying this out loud (are you going to understand what I mean? Will I be judged?) if I’m being honest, the flip-side to the insurmountable joy and love that having kids has brought to my life, is that it’s bloody hard work. And with that hard work comes the lack of time, lack of money and lack of sleep that can creep up and swallow you up before you’ve noticed.
So this year, I have stopped in my tracks. I have decided that Christmas, which is not a spiritual time for me because I don’t practice any religion, is not worth it unless it can be enjoyed. I tried to boil it all down to essentials and what I came up with were family, food and magic. And now I am on a mission. I’m trying to see the small things, the obvious, tiny, creative little sparks of magic that are easy to overlook, but that excite and enthral little children. I’m looking for the Christmas stories, for ways to involve our son, who is three in decorating and in making cookies. I’m looking for how on earth I am going to find a way to keep the tree up with my one-year-old daughter on a crawling rampage around the house as she is hypnotized by lights and sparkle. I don’t want Christmas to be about presents for my kids as they grow up- sure, presents are part of it, but it’s about so much more than that and I want them to be able to look back on their childhood holidays as a time that was warm and thrilling and full of love. And for me that means going back to basics. This has to start with parents who are not stressed, a budget that doesn’t break the bank, a water-tight food plan so that cooking doesn’t take over the day, and attention to the small things. Because it’s the small things, the things that we often overlook or have forgotten that make all the difference.
And you know what? For the first time in years, I’m super-excited about Christmas.
