Christmas




The trouble with Christmas is that everyone wants to be a kid again. My daughters are young adults, one married with a small child and the other engaged. I noticed the disbelief in their eyes when I asked them to help with the food this year. After all, they prefer to be Christmased, not Christmas others. I understand. I feel the same way. But let’s face it; Christmas is a mammoth job for the woman of the house.

Traditionally the holiday falls squarely on the shoulders of Mom. The bulk of Christmas carding, shopping, wrapping, cleaning, decorating, baking, cooking and Santa Clausing becomes hers by default.

By law, women are required to do these things because men do not understand the basic concept of equality. So what if Bob’s gift costs $89 and Richard’s only $7.50? It’s Christmas! Who’s counting? Mom (who understands inequality and wishes to prevent world wars and city-wide riots) rushes to the nearest discount store at 11pm and sifts through mounds of mangled sweaters searching for a gift or two to even the score. Then she whips up a batch of homemade divinity to equalize the number as well as cost of presents under the tree. It’s second nature to her. No wonder she ends up doing all the shopping. It’s easier to do it right the first time rather than trying to fix it at the last minute.

My husband has no concept of what it takes to pull it all together. Freely he invites extra people to join us for the holiday meal, not remembering or caring that our table only seats ten (and only if two people share each end) and that our dinnerware service is for twelve. "I’ll help you," he promises. Sure. And this year I’m trying to cook for a vegetarian, another who won’t eat pork and another who won’t eat poultry. Try finding a menu to please all three!

O Magazine instructs me to keep my goals reachable and simplify my plans. It’s good advice but shocking to the librarian who checked out my book the other day. "Have you finished your cleaning and baking for Christmas?"she asked perkily.

"I’m doing neither this year," I said in my relaxed O inspired voice.

"No baking? Or cleaning?" She nervously handed me my book and hurried away as if I had cooties.

I had crossed the line.The message was clear; if I planned to follow O's advice, I'd best keep quiet about it.

This morning I got up early and began my solitary vigil of putting the turkey in the oven, preparing the family's favorite stuffing and finding a pan big enough to catch the ham drippings. The gifts are under the tree and the kids are home. The fridge is bulging with salad fixings, eggnog and pickled herring. I remember how I promised my son that I would make rosettes for Christmas. It won't take long to make a batch.

I consider the rest of the family sleeping in, waiting for me to conduct the extravaganza. How blessed we are to be healthy and employed. Our youngest just graduated from college and will marry soon. Our son has a permanent job after a year of temping. Our sweet grandchild lives near enough that we can be part of his life.

Christmas comes only once a year, it's a time to count our joys and put sorrows into perspective. The gifting and decorating are nice, but the real gift is being together.

The kids are sleeping in—I was the same way at their age. For years I let others do it all. And why not? Drudgery and responsibility come too soon; let them have one more Christmas without it.

After all doesn't the Bible say to Christmas others as you would have them Christmas you? Or something like that.