So This is Christmas…
I think I’ve said before more than once that I really like Christmas
I love the colours and the lights and the tastes and the music and the core message and the whole HYGGE like atmosphere. I like warm-fuzzies it cranks up towards my loved ones
As a teenager, I learnt that certain practicalities and life’s curve balls can get in the way of being able to fully make the most of the season. As a young adult I realised that there can be ways around these things -usually it amounts to being organised -and I have strived each year to work with these ways around in order to make life more pleasant for myself (and inevitably, those around me) and thus appreciating the season the way it’s supposed to be
There is usually a stress about something or another
The Christmas Cry seems to have become a bit of a tradition over in our house. It could be due to tiredness or anxiety over The Big Day or disappointment at myself for not living up to my own expectations. Whatever the particular cause on any given year The Christmas Cry WILL happen. Just like a new mother WILL cry and have a meltdown the third day post birth. It’s just science
S: “You always have a mini meltdown over something each Christmas no matter what”
The last week or so this year I have been fretting. Fretting because my dearest darling teenage first born has not been at all forthcoming about his gift preferences. At least not until last Monday, at which point he requested an item that has been discontinued.
He has very particular and niche interests, thinking up an alternative is difficult
And yes yes yes I know to some that this will all sound very shallow-being-suckered–into–the-great-con-of-crass-commercialism but to you people I say…
Fuck off of my blog with your holier than thou asses (fa la la la la, la la la 🖕🏻)
Never the less, my fretting has at times turned me into exactly what I don’t like about the holidays. The stuff I try to avoid. The last two days I have felt stressed and panicked and have been catastrophising Christmas morning something awful; mentally envisioning my son so broken and traumatised that his heart shrinks 3 sizes too small and he turns full Grinch for the rest of his life whilst my Cyndi-Lou daughter weeps for him out of sympathy in the background
Green fur an’ all!
Yesterday I went about with a knot of tightness in my chest, that actually hurt when I breathed deep. A slight sickness in my throat. I have been scouring the Webernet for the niche little places that usually cater to his hobbies, but they’re all a little unpolished and most can’t guarantee an on time delivery
The grey skies looked greyer, the wet weather has been wetter, the crowded supermarket as felt more crowded and I have felt quite distinctly blue
Yup, fretting over my sons gift has become all encompassing and it has caused me to lose perspective
This isn’t what I wanted
So I’m going to do something about it
I’m going to calm my tits and STOP FRETTING
Im going to focus on the good and important things. I’m going to cuddle my children and kiss their cheeks. I’m going to hunker down in the warmth and twinkling lights with my loved ones, burn a goddam vanilla scented candle and appreciate how lucky we are to have eachother and to have so much
I am going to breathe and remind myself that there will definitely not be any tufts of green fur sprouting out of anyone under this roof this year, that my sons heart is not about to be irreparably broke ,because the terribly dramatic things we imagine will happen when we catastrophise almost alway NEVER HAPPEN.
Have you ever noticed that?
Wishing you all a wonderfully warm and snug and happy Christmas