There, I said it. I know it's awful and very "Bah-hum-bug" of me to admit it but sorry, I hate this time of year. Unfortunately I'm aware (if you know me at all) that your obvious response to this statement will be that I hate it because I'm not a Christian.
No, you would be very, very wrong about that.
I was raised Southern Baptist and my happiest memories to this day is still of listening to Christmas choir music and taking communion at church surrounded by all the light and love of Christian beliefs. To my husband's shock, my favorite Christmas song to this day is still "O Holy Night". Don't hate on my Southern Baptist heritage, folks. However, despite my agnostic beliefs counteracting all of the joy that I gather from my childhood traditions revolving around Christian morale, I still retain a soft spot for believing in Santa Claus and what it means for a young child. I may no longer believe that there was a woman who actually gave birth without ever having intercourse, but the idea of Santa Claus, to me, is still vital for the imagination of a young child's mind. Now... with all THAT said...
I hate this "new" Christmas. It's starting to feel a little TOO commercial, don't you think? When I was out shopping for gifts this month, I never saw one happy face. I never saw one wide-eyed child filled with excitement. I never saw an ounce of Christmas spirit. In it's stead, I saw angry women barking orders at their loud-mouthed children. I saw the looks in people eyes as if it was my fault when I almost got ran over in the mall parking lot... twice. I saw disappointment, venomous hatred, regret, and anxiety. Sure, these people probably went home spouting off on their Facebook statuses what a joy it will be to see the look on their children's faces Christmas morning but for real? It's almost as if they HAVE to say that. And I don't buy it.
The final straw for me was at the tail end of my Christmas shopping at Wal-Mart (which, I'm sorry, is my hell) when I stumbled in the door with $70 worth of junk, set my bags down with my frozen fingers because I forgot my gloves and realized... I didn't grab the $8 worth of gift wrapping I had purchased at U-Scan.
Kill. Me. Now...
Which was exactly what Chris was probably thinking when I went into a much-needed, well hidden for 2 weeks rampage. I threw the bags onto the floor and took off. I looked out our giant dining room window and cursed Christmas. I screamed to Chris about how much I didn't even care who got gifts this year 'cause they'd be forgotten by February. I made my way to the kitchen to roar about how I will feel awful, not blessed, at the gifts I receive from the people who really couldn't afford it anyway. I even pointed at our Christmas tree and said how dumb it looked without the lights working right and how I felt like a failure for not making it look better. That, I had screamed, was Christmas's fault, too.
I do, however, have hope. Last night, Chris and I went on our annual Christmas date. We decided last year that we don't need to buy gifts for each other and instead went to our favorite (and very expensive) restaurant. We don't go all year so that it will be special. We go on December 23rd when practically no one else is there. It's across the street from the Peachtree Plaza and the giant Christmas tree and all the lights shine right into the window across the street. It's OUR Christmas to each other and it's glorious. We got all dressed up and had an hour to kill before our reservation so I poured myself a glass of wine and turned on the television. I yelled for Chris that Home Alone was on so he hurried up from getting dressed and snuggled up next to me on the couch. We recited the lines we know so well and laughed. I looked over at our wonky, memory-filled Christmas tree and knowing exactly what I was thinking Chris goes "I love our Christmas tree". Last night was lovely, albeit just the two of us, but I have hope that tonight I'll feel the same way. Cousins I rarely see will hopefully open their gifts I picked out at that packed, tension-filled Wal-Mart and scream with glee. Even if they stop playing with them by tomorrow, that one scream will echo a lifetime. Hopefully the heat from the oven at Aunt Ronda's house will warm my chilly heart tonight.
Hopefully, I will hear "O Holy Night" and remember what it's like to love this time of year.
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