Holiday Glaze

“The holidays are coming! The holidays are coming!”  a disembodied voice shrieks in my ear.   Lucky for Brad, I’m the only one who hears it.  It wakes me up almost every night at 3:00 AM, demanding answers.  “The holidays are coming,” it taunts me.  “What are you going to DO about it?”  

Honestly?  I can’t do anything about it.  I am going to make the right food, take it to the events I am expected to attend, and come December, I’ll buy gifts for a whole list of people who will be disappointed in them.  I’m going to do the best I can and it won’t be good enough and I know this going in.  

Poor Brad and Sweetpea.  They have to live with me.  Brad was raised by Yankees so a tense Christmas is nothing new to him, but I owe Sweetpea a better experience.  She is so sensitive that I never had to tell her that I hate the holidays.  She figured it out on her own, and bless her heart, she tries really hard not to ask for anything – no gifts, no special favors, no dinner menu requests – between Halloween and the Super Bowl.  I love her for trying to help me but my guilt is excruciating.  

This is not to say that I am not thankful at Thanksgiving or that I boot the Christ out of Christmas.  I do have plenty to be thankful for.  Brad and Sweetpea top that list.  I have a family who cares enough about me not to give me a pass on holiday gatherings.  I have a few good friends.  I have a job.  Financially, things could be better but they could also be much worse.  I am grateful for what we have and I try not to be envious of the things we cannot afford.  And while we do not spend the entire month of December attending church services at all hours of the days and nights, we certainly acknowledge the reason for the season.  

The holidays may give me hives but I still love Santa Claus.  Sweetpea and I will attend a breakfast with the big guy in a couple of weeks.  She is getting a little old for that kind of thing.  I have no idea what she believes.  She has asked me if I believe, and I’ve told her about that night when I was little and I woke up and saw Santa standing over me.  I stared at him, fascinated and unafraid, then blinked and he was gone.  I was probably seven that year.  I’ve always wanted to see him again but so far I haven’t caught him. I never sleep on Christmas Eve because I’m too excited so I just lay there and listen for jingle bells.  I have heard that he’s not real, but I hope the people that told me that are wrong.  She accepts these stories because they are the truth.  I do hope everyone is wrong.  I hope there is a guy with flying reindeer and a sleigh full of toys who loves children so much that the idea of a little B & E doesn’t deter him from his gift-giving mission.  

And there it is.  I may have holiday blues but I am not without hope.