Don’t get me wrong, I actually do love the holidays. I love watching my kids open gifts and cool desert nights and cacti strung with Christmas lights. I love the break from work/school and the feeling of being able to wrap up the year relaxing instead of stressing. But I’ve never been able to get myself into the whole “holiday season” and all the joy that I know I’m supposed to be feeling.
First of all, every time I leave the house this time of year, I regret it. My lazy morning errand runs to Target with my toddler, suddenly become a nightmarish fight for parking and a shopping cart, plus a super-long checkout line which usually amounts to a toddler meltdown. By the time I leave, I’m usually cursing the holiday crowds.
Then there’s the more-than excessive holiday music that plays constantly on the radio from Halloween onward. I actually like holiday music, but not that much of it. Not all the time. And the beautiful Christmas lights that adorn the houses on my street – pretty to look at, but not so nice when the lights across the street shine so brightly into my son’s bedroom that he realizes it’s more entertaining to peak through the window at the lights than actually lie down and go to sleep.
Of course I love all the holiday food and treats, but I hate having to start the new year with a resolution to lose those extra five holiday pounds. Those cute little iced gingerbread cookies I picked up at Trader Joes for the kids last week, are my worst enemy right about now.
I know. I know. None of this is what the holiday season is supposed to be all about. I know it’s really about appreciating what we have and spending time with our families and memorizing a child’s face as he unwraps a gift that he really wanted. And I do love these things. I do. But I tend to love them a whole lot more in January, once I’m able to walk back in a store, listen to the radio, and enjoy those dark starlit nights again.