Christmas Rehab

                We spent days celebrating Christmas.  It was exhausting.  We had Christmas with Brad’s family earlier this month.  Starting Christmas Eve we had Christmas with my brother and then Christmas with my dad’s family.  On Christmas morning we (Brad, Sweetpea and I)  had our own small Christmas, followed by  Christmas without my brother and we wrapped it up with Christmas with my mom’s family.   We’re in Christmas rehab now.  Brad’s watching TV.  Sweetpea is gaming.  I’m wrapped in an electric blanket hoping that the heat will unkink the knots in my neck and back.  No one in our house is speaking to anyone else.  We smile and nod at each other in the hallway, like acquaintances passing on a busy street.  We’re eating candy for dinner.  Sweetpea once said, “In this family, we eat our feelings.”  She was right.  We each have a bag of Hershey kisses.  Oh, the irony.

                I meant to enjoy the holidays.  I meant to take time to feel the excitement in the air.  I don’t think that happened.  Remember those old-timey cartoons where some girl found herself tied to train tracks and the train was bearing down but the ropes were too tight and she couldn’t get free?  I had that feeling.  I am pretty sure it wasn’t eager anticipation.   Felt more like a panic attack.  During an episode of extreme claustrophobia.  With a sprinkling of acid reflux.  Under an umbrella of dread.

                This is starting to sound like a cry for help.  I want it to be perfectly clear that I love my family.  I love all of them, with all of their weird little quirks and sillinesses.  I just think sometimes Christmas wants too much from me.  On Christmas Eve Eve, my brother and sister-in-law got here from Greenville.  We gave my parents a fire pit and made s’mores.  We laughed at the way my mom called them  “samoas.”  She is a southern lady and very easy on her vowels.  My darling yankee husband kept teasing her about Pacific islanders and my dad and brother teased Brad about not knowing how to build a proper fire.  My little sister started streaming Christmas music through her cell phone and my sister-in-law made her family’s secret eggnog recipe.  The girls took turns holding the new puppy on the swing as we sat outside and burned Christmas tree debris and Sweetpea ended up looking like a hobo with burned marshmallow all over her face.  When I think back to Christmas this year, those are the memories I want to keep.  

 

 

This post originally appeared in Irregardless Daily.