Holly jolly with less holly, but more jolly...
Our house looks like a Christmas bomb went off, cardboard boxes and storage totes still on the floor. Fidget had just gone in the attic this past Sunday, dragging down stockings and reindeer and blow-up penguin mailboxes. I did decorate the office space behind me for a Zoom office party whatever, but that holiday energy never got to come downstairs. All three cats were dressed up in their costumes for said party, and all three were mighty angry about the whole affair.
Momma was not very happy yesterday, missing my father and lamenting over the weather. I held minimal hope that she would celebrate as I sat with her around all of the decorations I had put up in the condo, the ceramic tree and Santa and Frosty with their decidedly 80's-themed craft lights dimly glowing in the darkened living room. I realized that I had been decorating their condo for the past four years, then struggling to do my own home. Momma defaulted, telling me I didn't have to put up decorations and should focus on my own home instead, but those ceramics and baubles reminded me of family and my childhood.
I came home, upset, over-people-ed, needing to put myself away and watch YouTube videos about Future Jess and potential 2021 money goals. Fidget had no input about the holidays; he continues to be lackadaisical. And he's always been like that. "It's difficult when there's no kids. And the cats don't care." Indeed, they don't.
I also realized that my mother didn't really care, either. And we had been decorating for 40+ years because my father loved the lights, all the twinkles, and big, wrapped packages. There would be huge blow-ups on the front porch, chili lights and decorated palm trees. And it would all stay up until his birthday.
Huh.
I made peace with this all last night, slowly puttering through my Christmas-bombed house. I hung the chili lights and stockings, then arranged a door wreath. I brought out the Santa palm tree fleece blanket and the Christmas Pooh pillow Mom made me many years ago. The tree stayed in its box upstairs, and we didn't get the other ornaments down this year. I woke up this morning and wrapped all of Fidget's and Momma's presents, then haphazardly gave them to my husband after my mother cancelled coming over for the second holiday dinner this year. My presents were unwrapped, me blindly sticking my hand into a cardboard box to find whatever Fidget got me. The cats rejoiced in the boxes, and Sadie got stairs from Santacat to get onto our bed comfortably. With lack of enthusiasm from my direct family and no pending New Year's Eve party (thanks, pandemic!) to show friends our Great Tree, an overwhelmingly state of meh came from me.
I've never been either for or against Christmas. Others seem to LOVE it or HATE it, and I'm pretty much, "alright." I was plenty happy to bogart others' celebrations, but with the divorces and death on his side and then lack of enthusiasm on mine, we now are living in a house with Christmas storage boxes and no tree.
I'm baking the food from QVC, a ham and sides that Momma ordered in October. I've air-fried Brussels sprouts with bacon like an honest millennial, and cooked cranberry sauce this morning that I hope will solidify soon. Current plan is to eat, watch Wonder Woman 1984, and then go to my mother's with a plate and presents. I'll come home and rest this holiday. Maybe we'll have hot chocolate? Or maybe not.
I plan on writing a letter to Future Jess to not put as much effort into the Circle House because we don't care as much. And that's okay. As long as Momma has her ceramics, our house can be minimally decorated and we'll all survive...
... we remain really resilient, regardless of holiday grieving and guilt.