F*ck It That’s Good Enough (AKA Be In the Present Instead of Worrying About How Things Should Be)
I don’t want to sound Grinchy, but there are moments when I’ll be glad the holidays are behind us. The entire month of December feels like a neverending series of to-do lists interspaced with bouts of social anxiety - I have nothing to wear! Why does my hair look so stupid? Is my hostess gift lame? Was my appetizer a poor choice?
Anxiety Girl - able to leap to horrible conclusions in a single bound!
Don’t get me wrong. I love the holidays, and when my brain isn’t rebelling with its neverending reel of angst, I can relax and soak up the spirit of the season. Sometimes, I wish I could draw out the gift anticipation, the twinkle-light-fueled cheer, and the final few weeks of December in Florida that almost feel like winter before we slump into the January doldrums.
Yesterday, we finished decorating our tree. We have a collection of dated ornaments that goes back to 1990. Looking at them, I’m amazed at how much time has passed since Bill and I started dating, married, became parents of a baby, a small child, a teen, a kid in college, and now a married kid with a child of his own. Wasn’t it just yesterday that we met? No? Well, it is official. We are old.
But oh, the memories! There’s nothing like aging to drive home the power of traditions and their ability to bring back memories.
There were several years between college and grandchildren when I missed the magic of having a younger kid at Christmastime. Back in the day, I loved seeing Lego strewn around the floor. Okay, no, I didn’t. I loved the look on Justin’s little face when he raced out of bed on Christmas morning to see what Santa had brought.
My favorite memory was the year he begged for a Jurassic Park remote-controlled jeep with a mean dinosaur that spits water…I mean poison. He wasn’t expecting to receive it, so when he unwrapped it, he jumped up and down, hugged the jeep, and was unbelievably HAPPY. What a great toy, BTW. It served a dual purpose of dinosaur fun AND soaking the floors with puddles of dinosaur “poison” on Christmas morning.
December 25th me - Heartwarming joy knowing we found our son the perfect gift.
December 26th me: Take that damn thing outside and stop spitting it at the walls!
I loved our Christmas traditions - AKA the burdensome parental duties and festive must-dos. We WILL decorate the gingerbread house even though I’ll be scrubbing icing off the kitchen floor for the next three months. We WILL pose for a family photo that none of us are interested in participating in. We WILL chop our own tree down at the Christmas Tree farm even though pine needles will be strewn through our house until March. Actually, we stopped the real tree tradition about 15 years ago when we discovered that having one made us all sneeze, and you ever noticed how messy Christmas is?
This year, I’ve been doing this thing that I never would have done in my 30s or 40s, back when I thought I had all the time in the world. I say to myself, “Enjoy every moment. You never know when this will be the last time.” It’s like the clock is ticking louder now that I’m creeping into my 60s. Do you know what I mean?
Yes, I’m overthinking to the point where I’m caught between Christmas past and Christmas present and holiday expectations versus holiday realities. I need to take on the daunting task of simply being present rather than caught up in how things used to be and what things could and should be.
So, my goals for the next two weeks are to try to chill the hell out, drink vodka, and stuff my already-enormous belly full of unhealthy appetizers and party snacks. Lofty, yet doable!