So I'm going to call a spade a spade and say, "Santa Day was so much fun!" Am I christian, pagan, aetheist, gnostic, buddist...I'm not really sure myself. The reality is that I like the story of Jesus' birth and the wise men and accept that Christmas is actually January 6th (christian), I decorate a tree and celebrate the solstice(pagan), I think December 25th is Santa Day (aetheist), I contemplate the goodwill and spirit of something greater (gnostic), and honestly my husband says I'm more buddist than he. I think Americans in general secularized this holiday, and I'm fine with that. The spirit of "Christmas" is possible every day of the year, but if we must only meditate on it once a year: I'll do it in December.
As I've grown older Christmas has lost some of its spark and luster: it became perfunctory. As a child I wondered at the secrets of Santa, awed at the ideas of Bethlehem and wise men, I swam in presents that made me smile and giggle. As a teen Christmas felt greedy and demanding because mom and dad didn't get me what I asked for and it was a counting game at the end of the day, but I couldn't underestimate the "feeling" of Christmas. After my father passed I picked up the slack for my mother and became Santa for my sisters. Then each year, whomever was financialy more stable did so. We were a family and Christmas was my dad's holiday, so we would keep him alive in its spirit. Then my thirties happened. What the hell is Christmas anyway...too much money, too much pressure, too much too much. Now suddenly Christmas is seeping back into my heart as I watched Anya's amazement at the wrapping paper, lights, gifts, and all day partying with her family. She was so caught up in excitment that she thought Ron and Audrey's new puppy was a present for her too.
My little Anastasia Grace looked at the pictures of her with Santa and says, "tanta," "stanta and beebee," or something of the sort. Opening her stocking was a hoot. She had no idea what to do. I sat on the floor with her and showed her to pull everything out. One at a time she loved each item. Opening presents was a whole other affair. The first taste of recklessness she truely experienced. She was afraid to rip up the paper and the OCDs we already instilled in her (parents of the year) about throwing trash away were comical as she tore teeny tiny pieces of paper and threw them out one at a time. By the end of the day she was ripping with abandon and eager for one more present. She was exhausted and overwhlemed and ecstatic all day. She made me giggle again.
I started drinking at nooish. Yay. I started to feel the stress of the holiday and nipped it quickly with some vodka and some more. I was loopy by 2, but still managed a wonderful ham and mashed potatoes, and yum on the gouda and provolone chianti spread and Chrissy's spinach dip was the bomb. We feasted throughout the day. Anya had cookies and snacks and turkey and o my. She was in her glory and I was so warm and fuzzy and happy that the "feeling" of Christmas was in my home. We played Dance Dance Revolution on the Wii and Anya jumped in her bouncy bounce and Freyja knawed on her bully sticks and everyone had smiles on their faces. I love that my family and Rich's family and our close friends return every year to share this day together.
Christmas came and went without major incident, at least none that I care to declare. Our visiting plans post Christmas were interrupted by a rare Northeast bizzard that snowed everyone in to the east, but left us with a sprinkling of irritation only. I was peeved for a moment, but decided that I spend all year running around so I shoudl enjoy the excuse to be a couch potato for a change. And so I did. I was sad when my mom had to go back home, and melancholy about my vacation coming to an end, but I can say that I enjoyed my holiday and my family and my life. Now next year Anya will ask to write Santa a letter...can't wait!
04 January 2011
Me
I suppose a "Happy New Year" is in order to you and yours. Two days back from the quickest moving two weeks of vacation ever, and enter 2011. Let's just start in shall we? I don't believe in New Year's resolutions. I think they are silly really. I can make resolutions any moment of any day, and, frankly, will hold on to them better this way. Who wants to start their new year off fucking up all ready. The running joke seems to be how soon until you break your promises into the new year? REALLY? Why.
If I make a promise I mean it. I will try so hard I screw myself up following through. Over the years this has led me to make less promises for sure. I have also learned that setting myself up for failure damages any sense of self-worth or confidence I achieved. Every year I wish for a better year than the last, and hope that I survive the trials and tribulations I will face. I also vow to try and win the lottery.
What will this year bring? I would like to teach belly dance in more studios. I would like to advance my Arbonne business. I would like to be financially stable again. All of these hopes hinge on my taking personal action to achieve them. But don't mistake these for resolutions. These are on going personal dreams. There is no failure to be had here. I will be me and work towards making my dreams a reality, but I will not destroy myself in the process.
I tried hard not to fill my FaceBook wall the first few days of the new year with negative comments about going back to work and not being on vacation anymore and O the misery. I knew that coming back to the office was going to suck. And I still harbor anger towards my paycheck writer for his inexcusable behavior regarding my time off. But this I must face and do so with the least amount of self-fullfilling depression possible. To my credit I've woken up before my alarm, although have stayed in bed for the cursory snooze anyway; I've packed my breakfast and lunch; I came home and actually played with and gave Anya a bath before I plopped on the couch exhausted; I went to bed at 8, but watched TV until 9:30...woohooo late night; totally fucked up my famously yummy split pea soup and had to throw it out - my bad; O and I put on makeup two days in a row for work - eveyyone said I look fab and did I change my hair - doh! I'm still looking forward to the day I cash in my winning lottery ticket.
So here I am. 2011. Anya turns 2 this year. What the Fuck! Yeah - did I tell you I vowed to have a trucker mouth this year? I pulled my combat boots out of the closet too. I look back at my blog with it's swiss cheese style and find it so painful still. I always feel one step out of the midst...sometimes It catches up to me and I can't breath for a bit, but I keep running and have freedom for a time. I almost want another child, but don't feel that it would be fair to do so in our financial rings of hell...not to mention my vodka therapy and I would love to start smoking again. I put Manson in the CD player and blackened my eye makeup. I feel tough as nails and miss my youth suddenly. I had so much fun being reckless and carefree and me. ...One thing I do resolve this year is to be me.
If I make a promise I mean it. I will try so hard I screw myself up following through. Over the years this has led me to make less promises for sure. I have also learned that setting myself up for failure damages any sense of self-worth or confidence I achieved. Every year I wish for a better year than the last, and hope that I survive the trials and tribulations I will face. I also vow to try and win the lottery.
What will this year bring? I would like to teach belly dance in more studios. I would like to advance my Arbonne business. I would like to be financially stable again. All of these hopes hinge on my taking personal action to achieve them. But don't mistake these for resolutions. These are on going personal dreams. There is no failure to be had here. I will be me and work towards making my dreams a reality, but I will not destroy myself in the process.
I tried hard not to fill my FaceBook wall the first few days of the new year with negative comments about going back to work and not being on vacation anymore and O the misery. I knew that coming back to the office was going to suck. And I still harbor anger towards my paycheck writer for his inexcusable behavior regarding my time off. But this I must face and do so with the least amount of self-fullfilling depression possible. To my credit I've woken up before my alarm, although have stayed in bed for the cursory snooze anyway; I've packed my breakfast and lunch; I came home and actually played with and gave Anya a bath before I plopped on the couch exhausted; I went to bed at 8, but watched TV until 9:30...woohooo late night; totally fucked up my famously yummy split pea soup and had to throw it out - my bad; O and I put on makeup two days in a row for work - eveyyone said I look fab and did I change my hair - doh! I'm still looking forward to the day I cash in my winning lottery ticket.
So here I am. 2011. Anya turns 2 this year. What the Fuck! Yeah - did I tell you I vowed to have a trucker mouth this year? I pulled my combat boots out of the closet too. I look back at my blog with it's swiss cheese style and find it so painful still. I always feel one step out of the midst...sometimes It catches up to me and I can't breath for a bit, but I keep running and have freedom for a time. I almost want another child, but don't feel that it would be fair to do so in our financial rings of hell...not to mention my vodka therapy and I would love to start smoking again. I put Manson in the CD player and blackened my eye makeup. I feel tough as nails and miss my youth suddenly. I had so much fun being reckless and carefree and me. ...One thing I do resolve this year is to be me.
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