Normally I am the Queen of Christmas. From the middle of October I start getting tingles in my fingertips and toes because I know that I won’t have to wait long until the stores are pumping out the rocking Christmas tunes, stuffing their shelves with cheap decorations and gift packs that I never buy but always feel that I “need”.
I am a lover of cheap crap.
Last year I fought through the First Christmas Without My Dad by cooking constantly. Making homemade pasta, gourmet dinners and baking, baking, baking. Our Christmas Dinner For Two could have fed a small impoverished nation, but it helped take my mind off of the most important thing that was missing that day. The alcohol didn’t hurt either.
This year, I am as sober as they come and as much as I try to jumpstart the Christmas Spirit hidden within, as soon as there is a sign that it is coming back, the engine stalls. Even though I do like the tree. A lot. And I like the cute stocking we bought as well. I just can’t get that Christmas Feeling that I am longing for.
Christmas without my Dad in the world is not really a Christmas worth celebrating. I keep hoping my Kwanza card will come through the door letting me know that this has all been the longest, most draining nightmare I’ve ever had. But, it doesn’t come. My Christmas Card in November never arrived either.
Yesterday we put up the tree in hopes that it would bring a smile to my face, and although it was a great distraction, as soon as it was done the Spirit left again. Perhaps next year, when there is a little (or big) baby crawling around wondering why this massive tree has taken over the living room and why s/he cannot touch it, things will be different. For now though, they suck.
Normally I can rattle of a million things that I want. This year, I want nothing. I lie, I want a diaper bag. But I can get that after Christmas when hopefully stores will be having their sales. But I seriously cannot think of anything I could get that would bring back the feeling of Christmas Overjoy that I usually have.
That is not to say that I have been The Grinch the entire “season”. And last night there were a lot of laughs between the tears. But those came thanks to my husband who must have put something in the orange juice that he was drinking, because he was a whole new man for a while there; Not “The Man Whose Wife Drains Him Of All Will To Live With Her Constant Crying and Crankiness”.
The next photo is small and dark, but last night when we got home I was startled as I looked against the fridge door to see my the shadow of my profile. I Am The Grinch!
