Every year I forget that December, while being full of magic, isn’t only magic.
In my holiday-mind, every night is cookies for dinner while watching Elf. Not meatloaf on a soggy Tuesday with work deadlines looming and a kitchen floor that needs sweeping.
What I want are thoughtfully chosen gifts and fun afternoons wrapping them. Plenty of time for baking Christmas goodies and decorating them with ingredients that magically appear from the grocery store. Lots of time with family and lots of time alone. I want to watch Polar Express and Christmas Vacation and Home Alone and make my own wrapping paper while still having plenty of time for, well, everything.
This year, after my annual mid-December freakout/fit, I made a conscious effort to let the magic, the sparkling sweet joy, in around and among the stuff that I wish would just go away, like folding laundry and cooking supper.
It was easy once I decided to not let the overwhelm, well, overwhelm me. When I decided to look for the whimsy and joy and welcome it right beside the everyday chores of day to day life, that’s what I got.
It was a choice; that’s the part I didn’t realize. I thought I had to feel overwhelmed and stressed and rushed or be bitterly disappointed at letting go of the things I wanted to do to celebrate Christmas.
Of course, next year I hope to be done with the doing part of Christmas earlier in the season.
That’s my hope although I’m open to the possibility that it won’t happen. I can decide to be okay with that.