Thanksgiving was lovely. As a mom to a child who has been at college their first semester, it was the longest I have had my oldest home since August. The peace in my heart when all three of my kids are safe at home in their beds is unmatched, and I know that these days are fleeting and fewer as the years go on. We had our usual large family gathering, and then as quickly as the holiday started, my oldest was packing up for Iron Bowl weekend in Auburn, and it was over. I lost my cool a bit; we had a long-standing tradition of our “home meal” on black Friday, and it dwindled a bit this year. Ava had made plans; Joey had to work since he was sick and was catching up on hours; my extended family was working or recovering. I had friends and my brother coming over, but it felt different. My reaction was directed at my oldest, and while I was frustrated for good reason, our small argument about it turned quickly into a revelation for me I was not expecting.
I always go all out for everything. I love to celebrate ,and I love my people. I take joy in the crowded, loud rooms and kids running a muck with whatever toy they drag from the depths of the toy box (kids always do this, in packs they sniff out the strangest things). I clean, prep, and execute these things, and my husband is supportive where he can be. I am not Martha Stewart, I am not even close, but I know good food, drinks, and company. What I generally end up doing in truth is burning myself out, not actually eating or enjoying food, and crashing out when the ceiling fans still haven’t been dusted after very pushy reminders. I embody the sweet excitement of Clark Griswold, as well I do the burnt out version of him after he receives the Jelly of the Month subscription. I want the perfect holiday moments, is that too much to ask!?
Yes. It is. It simply isn’t obtainable in our current life, house, budget, and limitations of navigating autism. My oldest is growing up and has her own important relationships and priorities. My husband has a great job, but it’s in the service industry, and the hours are prime time for gatherings. While sparring with my kid, I walked into my room and had a good cry, and I prayed the kind of prayer a tired mom prays. Then I saw it. I saw the truth is that my kids do not care if I roast garlic and slow cook a turkey to perfection. They will never care about the baseboards or the cobwebs that like to pop up in my kitchen whenever I invite people over. What they care about is being together in whatever form that takes. They enjoy getting the Christmas tree, but instead of matching pjs while we put it up, one of them will probably be in his skivies and another of them plotting their plans for after. That is ok.
I can relax. I don’t have pretentious people in my life judging me, at least not that I am inviting over. I am a 40-year-old mom of three who works, homeschools, and runs a kitchen that never closes. I can do the things that bring me joy in the holidays until they stop making me joyful, then I should stop. So here it is, my revised list of plans for the rest of December.
I will craft when I feel like it, but I will not plan elaborate presents around last-minute craft ideas.
I will clearly state what time and attention I would like from my family, but I won’t stress out when we are being our normal selves instead of Christmas elves.
I will cook when it makes me happy, and I will make cheese toast and frozen lasagna when it doesn’t.
I will decorate like Clark Griswold, until it makes me frustrated or takes up too much time, and then I will call it enough.
I will call it enough, and I will go sit down with a Hallmark movie and a blanket, or read a Christmas book to the kids, because
It is enough.
This year, that means tacos and nachos for Christmas dinner because everyone loves them and it’s quick. Store-bought cookie dough if time gets short. My homemade eggnog running out and being replaced with a carton from Publix. Gift bags and simple gifts, I know the receiver will love that don’t create stress for future me, money-wise.
But I will be present, I will be happy, and I will not be frustrated and burnt out by December 26th. I think that this may be a Christmas my kids remember much better and much happier than any standing rib roast or 7 flavors of homemade cookies could ever achieve because they will get me, fully and completely. That is enough.