Ho, Ho, Ho
1. Christmas trees
Every year at a certain moment, I’ll notice the first Pohutukawa trees in bloom and my heart feels good. These New Zealand natives with their bright, red flowers are the essence of Christmas feels for me.
Then a song or two hits the spot (not Mariah Carey*) and we’re all on.
*No offence, Mariah. I know you hit those high notes real good.
2. Christmas past
Apart from the many other religions that don’t recognise it as a holiday, this break over Christmas and the New Year can be a weighty one for many.
If things are fine and dandy and the biggest stress you have in your world is in the kitchen (and who doesn’t?!) then I guess it’s easy to forget about people less fortunate and less celebratory.
I’ve been there for sure, giving up on Christmas for many years until I became a mama and wanted to do Everything Right.
After my dad and brother died we had some dire 25th’s. It was the worst feeling ever sitting at someone else’s table as the add-on, broken family. Although each invitation was always given with the loveliest of intentions I resorted back to my inner 12-year-old of folded arms, tight smile and full-on sarcasm. I’m sure nobody picked up on it.
But it’s just not that festive being part of another family’s day as you inwardly (and a teensy bit outwardly) groan through a piano recital or have to wait till AFTER lunch for gifts (I know!). Then there’s the pity. Nothing like a nice dollop of pav with a head tilt of ‘poor you’.
I was furious.
Furious for having to be at a table that wasn’t ours, furious that my mother was so compliant with everyone else, furious at the whole shebang.
It’s already a time when enforced and slightly manic happiness is a must-have accessory. Along with the Santa hats and New Year resolutions it can all be a bit much. A LOT much, in truth and it helps when you’ve been in The Club (we know each other, those of us who with the empty chairs) to remember those times. Because, as they always say in yoga, the good times are all the more sweeter after overcoming rough patches.
Or something like that.
When my husband came on the scene he got to see how our somewhat scattered day played out and I enjoyed watching his face the first time he saw mum open her gifts from under the tree.
Oh, she’d say, this is a plant voucher and hand cream as she opened the already opened parcel or here, have a chocolate offering an already half empty box of truffles.
Yes, I’d explain, she takes an open-as-you-receive approach and then re-enacts the whole situation by badly rewrapping the gifts.
It was at this stage that she’d taken to not only working on Christmas Day so we’d have to wait for her but also inviting other people who were essentially as dysfunctional as us and once again, I’d resent it bitterly. I was not what you’d call a charming hostess with the mostess.
It wasn’t like we’d ever been an overboard family with Christmas when my brother and dad were alive, it’s just that now everything felt fake and sort of empty; like we were going through the motions. Badly.
So when I had my girl I was determined that Christmas would be fun. It would be perfect AND fun. It WOULD be perfect. It HAD to be perfect. Of course the best way to do that would be to invite everyone and do everything and watch my seven-month-old baby anxiously to see if she was suffering from any trauma I’d inflicted on her to ruin Christmas forever.
(Believe it or not I have yet to have any therapy.)
Here was where I thought I would start to love Christmas again. I’d recreate, but better, the proper childhood where everyone she loved was alive (no one die! I forking mean it!) and it would be light and easy and happy.
Except.
Except I couldn’t be that for her. Not for many years. I felt like I was acting my way through a role that I just wanted to be over and hope that the next year would be better.
Even though everything to do with my girl was magic. The stories, the anticipation, the tree, the advent calendar, the stocking, the waiting up till 2am so Santa could put the damn stocking at the foot of the bed and turn off the looooooong Lionel Ritchie concert on TV only to be woken at 5am because, yay! All of it, the carefully designed and written out menus and vouchers for hugs and love, all of that was real and beautiful but I still felt like I was letting her down because I didn’t feel it.
For a long time we were still waiting on my mother’s schedule of work and it wasn’t till I let that go, that I let go of carrying her (understandable) Christmas sadness too that I could start to embrace this day on my own. First we decided that Christmas started in the morning and if she was there than great, if not we could see her afterwards. Then my mum moved down to Wellington and we were four. The first year we had many invitations to join people and I, expecting my girl to want to be part of a bigger party, asked my little family what they’d like to do.
They wanted us. Just us.
I took Christmas back and that, my friends, is a superpower.
3. Christmas present
It’s been just us ever since and we love it. We have created our own special rituals, our own traditions and I cherish them.
Do I love Christmas? Well, I try not to overthink it anymore.
There are an awful lot of people missing, there’s an awful lot of sadness still in how this year will pan out but my ones, my loves, that’s who I can’t wait to spend the day with where they reign over all the ghosts and help me understand that what I’ve made for them is enough. Family and friends will call and I’ll keep each message close. I truly feel blessed.
As a very wise man once said, Every little thing is gonna be alright – Bob Marley.
How does Christmas go in your house? Is it full-on or a quiet affair this year? Does it fill you to the brim with happiness or is there some melancholy there too? I guess we all have such different experiences and approaches to how we deal with the day, right?
Wishing you a happy day on the 25th and a beautiful start to 2018.
Three more sleeps!
Photo by Joanna Kosinska
© The Yoga Connection 2017