on christmas.
You know, I think there's a really important distinction when it comes to growing up that I'd like to draw attention to, especially at this time of year.
We're all told lies when we're kids, one way or another. We're told things, like the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, and we believe them even if we question them because that's within our natures. I mean, that's a generalisation, but overall, it's a prevalent one. We are lied to as children. It doesn't sound good. But at the same time, that lie is what makes this particular time of year magical. And it's that lie that persists no matter how many times the truth is eventually told.
I was about twelve years old when my parents informed me that Santa Claus isn't actually real. I think I cried. I was a bit of a sissy kid, in a way. As many of you know, I'm also a sissy grown-up. But when you've believed whole-heartedly in something for year after year, you truly are disappointed when you find out it isn't true. Is the whole affair tainted by that realisation? I don't think so. Children can be quite simple. There's still food and trees and presents and cake and all of those things. So Christmas is still amazingly fun. But the addition is a part of growing up - accepting your parents lied to you not maliciously, but because they wanted to awake a spirit within you, to give you some of that magic that adult life loses so very fast. Or maybe, just to get you to bed on time. I'm realistic.
You'd think that's where it ends, right? But that isn't true. The part above is talked about at length by everyone at this time of year - when you found out that nobody comes down your chimney at night to give you gifts. But there's another time. Let me talk about what Christmas is for me now, first. I spend the entire time working my butt off, wrapping a semi-infinite amount of presents, helping my mother with the cleaning and the food and organising the less helpful members of my family. Not to mention, trying to prepare things for my mother behind her back, entertaining, all of these things. Christmas for adults, I've found, is truly stressful. It's a constant worry about time and money and preparation. That has been my past few days, at the very least. I am overworked, stressed, and grumpy.
Yesterday, while I went Christmas shopping I was looking after a little girl. Not the best situation. It is singularly difficult to choose Christmas gifts with a little girl demanding your attention too. But I got on with it, since that's what we do at this time of year. And that's where that second part begins. We were waiting for the bus to go home and she said to me:
"Sian, is Santa Claus real?"
I opened my mouth to say 'no', because that's what I know to be true. 'Santa Claus' is actually people all over the world just like me who have an absolute nightmareweek or two trying to get everything done. Women who burst into tears over a turkey from stress and men who exchange their wife's gift five times because they're not sure if she'll like it. Christmas is all about that uncertainty and that rush, that strive for perfection that's on the front of all the Hallmark cards and on every shop window. But, if you remember back when you were a kid, that's not what it's about at all. That's not ever what it's about.
Christmas spirit is different for adults than for children. For children, it's simply a case of believing. If you believe, then things happen around you, and it's the easiest thing in the world. For adults, it's admitting that lying is okay if it brings happiness. And that all that hard work is worth seeing smiles.
"Of course he is," said I, and answered all her questions about the logistics of it (she's a bright kid) with equal lies. Until such a point as her parents take her aside and say to her that no, Santa doesn't exist, that's the answer you would always give.
And that's what Christmas is, isn't it? ♥
Whatever you celebrate, and however you do so, have a wonderful festive season, and I love you all. ♥♥♥
........ oh fuck i forgot christmas cards
We're all told lies when we're kids, one way or another. We're told things, like the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, and we believe them even if we question them because that's within our natures. I mean, that's a generalisation, but overall, it's a prevalent one. We are lied to as children. It doesn't sound good. But at the same time, that lie is what makes this particular time of year magical. And it's that lie that persists no matter how many times the truth is eventually told.
I was about twelve years old when my parents informed me that Santa Claus isn't actually real. I think I cried. I was a bit of a sissy kid, in a way. As many of you know, I'm also a sissy grown-up. But when you've believed whole-heartedly in something for year after year, you truly are disappointed when you find out it isn't true. Is the whole affair tainted by that realisation? I don't think so. Children can be quite simple. There's still food and trees and presents and cake and all of those things. So Christmas is still amazingly fun. But the addition is a part of growing up - accepting your parents lied to you not maliciously, but because they wanted to awake a spirit within you, to give you some of that magic that adult life loses so very fast. Or maybe, just to get you to bed on time. I'm realistic.
You'd think that's where it ends, right? But that isn't true. The part above is talked about at length by everyone at this time of year - when you found out that nobody comes down your chimney at night to give you gifts. But there's another time. Let me talk about what Christmas is for me now, first. I spend the entire time working my butt off, wrapping a semi-infinite amount of presents, helping my mother with the cleaning and the food and organising the less helpful members of my family. Not to mention, trying to prepare things for my mother behind her back, entertaining, all of these things. Christmas for adults, I've found, is truly stressful. It's a constant worry about time and money and preparation. That has been my past few days, at the very least. I am overworked, stressed, and grumpy.
Yesterday, while I went Christmas shopping I was looking after a little girl. Not the best situation. It is singularly difficult to choose Christmas gifts with a little girl demanding your attention too. But I got on with it, since that's what we do at this time of year. And that's where that second part begins. We were waiting for the bus to go home and she said to me:
"Sian, is Santa Claus real?"
I opened my mouth to say 'no', because that's what I know to be true. 'Santa Claus' is actually people all over the world just like me who have an absolute nightmareweek or two trying to get everything done. Women who burst into tears over a turkey from stress and men who exchange their wife's gift five times because they're not sure if she'll like it. Christmas is all about that uncertainty and that rush, that strive for perfection that's on the front of all the Hallmark cards and on every shop window. But, if you remember back when you were a kid, that's not what it's about at all. That's not ever what it's about.
Christmas spirit is different for adults than for children. For children, it's simply a case of believing. If you believe, then things happen around you, and it's the easiest thing in the world. For adults, it's admitting that lying is okay if it brings happiness. And that all that hard work is worth seeing smiles.
"Of course he is," said I, and answered all her questions about the logistics of it (she's a bright kid) with equal lies. Until such a point as her parents take her aside and say to her that no, Santa doesn't exist, that's the answer you would always give.
And that's what Christmas is, isn't it? ♥
Whatever you celebrate, and however you do so, have a wonderful festive season, and I love you all. ♥♥♥
........ oh fuck i forgot christmas cards