Christmas is going to be rough. Neither Jason nor I have our children with us on Christmas Day (we did last year and will next year, never fear!). Rationally, I don’t know why it bothers me so much. I’m a grown-up, right? Rationally, I should be fine with this. It’s Just Another Day, Really.
My first Christmas after college, when I was a newspaper reporter in Panama City, I had to work Christmas Eve and the day after Christmas, so I couldn’t go home. I sat in my apartment and watched a “Trading Spaces” marathon (hey, it was 2002) and cooked a little bit. And it was Just Another Day. But this is different.
Jason and I are going to my mom’s house for Christmas, and my brother is flying down from New York. When my father was alive, he would deck the halls. Anything that would stand still was covered in tinsel or shiny balls. The man LOVED Christmas. My mom refuses to decorate. And this is her first Christmas without her mother (my grandmother) around to tell us what to do celebrate with us.
Let me revise my first statement: Christmas Day is going to be rough. The whole season won’t be ruined by one day. How can it be, when I still get moments like this: