I don’t know how it happened, but it did. It came like a thief in the night and caught me unaware; it was already too late when I awoke. I wasn’t expecting it, but it got me: the
I’m a self-confessed grump about Christmas. It’s a lot of build-up, a lot of anxiety, and a lot of work, doubly so now that I’m an adult. I love giving and receiving presents (who doesn’t?) but I love relaxing and sleeping more. So, when I found myself humming “The Little Drummer Boy” in the grocery store, I was more surprised than a dog that’s caught the mailman. How did I become infused with joie de vivre? Was it the kind stranger who helped me when I dropped some change in the parking lot? Was it the delivery driver who wished me a Merry Christmas when she dropped off a parcel? Or was it my children, Molly and Andy, excitedly helping my husband Jeremy and I decorate the house?
Maybe it started when we picked out our Christmas tree. The four of us bundled up and headed to the tree farm on a cold, brisk winter’s day. Our toddler, Andy, shuffled around in his new snowsuit, his mittens-on-a-string dangling. Molly, her nose bright pink, chattered loudly, wondering when Santa would be visiting the farm. Eventually, we found a large tree that everyone liked (we’re assuming Andy agreed, but he was busy chewing his mitts), sawed it down clumsily, and packed it onto the roof of the van. The ride home was slightly worrisome; we should have tied the tree down with more than just hope and shoelaces, but it arrived in one piece. Leaving a bright green trail of pine needles from the van into the house, we fastened the tree in its base, stood back, and admired it. Even though I hate the mess of fallen needles and the threat of unknown bugs, I love the sharp scent of a Douglas Fir. Happy memories tumbled out as Jeremy and I unboxed the Christmas decorations; handmade snowflakes from the kids, delicate German songbirds from my mother. The bottom half of the tree remained bare since Andy can’t yet be trusted with sentimental or valuable items. We admired our handiwork, and I felt the first stirrings of seasonal joy.
Maybe it was when the kids were in bed, and the house was warm and clean and quiet. Perhaps it was the fire crackling in the fireplace, or the hot chocolate on the coffee table. The universe felt so unutterably simple and complete; a warm house, a cold night, and children sleeping peacefully. Whatever it was, my heart was glad and full.
From my family to yours, from one parent to another, here’s hoping you have a Merry Christmas, however you choose to celebrate. If my Scrooge-like heart can be thawed, there’s hope for all the Ebenezers out there; I’ll chew a glass of my homemade eggnog for all of us!
