Christmas. You Don't Miss it Until It's Gone.

I didn't grow up in a traditional family. Other than the fact we weren't steeped in tradition, my parents got divorced when I was four. So our holidays were never this fun, exciting thing we looked forward to (at least I didn't). They weren't about family trips or baking cookies together or three, four, five generations gathering and trimming the tree-- each with their own unique ornament like the Hortons on "Days of Our Lives". (Don't know who they are? Suffice to say, a soap opera family I wanted at Christmas). Our Christmases were filled with the anxiety of buying presents for people we didn't like (evil stepmother, not-so-nice father) who never liked what we bought them anyway, followed by the parental hand off. So if Christmas Eve became Christmas with my mom and my sister, we rushed through opening our presents at home so we could be done before my dad came over to pick us up. All so we could get up and have Christmas with him and his new family. Even though we weren't the kids on the Christmas cards he sent out. And our presents were rationed in relation to his "new kids" (as my sister and I referred to them... and still do-- like they were the newest model, state of the art, bright and shiniest kids he could pick out) because he "sent my mom money" (aka child support). Then the next year, the situation would be reversed. My sister and I would awkwardly open presents on Christmas Eve with my dad and his new family. Only the presents for us and given by us. Because their real Christmas would be on Christmas. Ours was the dress rehearsal or the consolation Christmas, as it were. Which my stepmother clearly resented. Which took a lot of fun out of it. Yet, it was always a relief to wake up at home the next morning. On Christmas. With just the three of us. My mom, my sister and me. Because no matter what was under the tree or not under the tree, we didn't have to fake it anymore. And Christmas was over.

Not to say my mother didn't create a festive atmosphere through the holidays and on the holiday-- whether our Christmas was celebrated on the actual day or not. She did. The woman loves crafts fairs. So it would be a genetic impossibility for her not to decorate. And that she did. She spent months preparing. It was a big deal. Our place had Santas that sang, reindeers, angels, snowmen, bells, whistles, you name it. Everything in the name of cheer. No to mention, she spent the entire day cooking on whatever day was our Christmas that year (the day before, the day after, we mixed it up). That's why when I was in college and told I had to wait tables at the deli I worked at on Christmas, it didn't even faze me. Not even on Christmas Day when one elderly Jewish lady demanded, "what are you doing here on your holiday?" as if that made me unworthy of serving her matzo ball soup. My mother and sister and me, we were used to moving the celebration around. As long as we got around to it. That's all that mattered. Those fifteen minutes of present opening and forty five minutes of meal (give or take fifteen minutes) were the culmination of weeks (or in my mother's case, months) of preparation.

For me, I realized, Christmas has really always been about the time that leads up to it. Not the actual holiday. My mother didn't just buy us things any old time. Because she couldn't. She saved up for Christmas. And me? I love buying presents. Wrapping presents. For people I care about. I think it's fun to pick things out for people, thank people (and I have a lot of people to thank) and share what I have with people. Given the choice, I'd rather give than receive. So I think that's why this year I feel not so Christmas-like. When there's nothing saved and you can't buy presents for people you like, I've discovered, it's even more depressing than buying presents for people you don't. (Can you imagine, I even miss buying those pesky Secret Santa gifts). I've been racking my brain trying to think of something to give this year. Something to wrap. Since I have a low hourly rate, I was thinking I could give errands or favors or some crazy thing like that... maybe even stories? But that feels not very exciting for the gift getter and kind of pathetic... Just as pathetic as hearing from people, "No one expects you to give them anything. You don't have any money." That's not the point. It's not what they expect. It's what I want to do. For them. My sister says she'll wrap presents she bought for my niece and nephew and say they're from me. But where's the fun in that? For one, I want to wrap them. Not to mention, the presents aren't from me. And even if they don't know that, I do. Maybe that's why this year, I'm looking even less forward to Christmas than I did when I was growing up. Because even with all the angst surrounding it. We still had it. Somehow. And in some way. Which may have been it's own crazy kind of tradition after all, because I do miss it now that it's gone.