Bah, Humbug

As holiday seasons go, it wasn’t bad, it wasn’t great. DH and I spent much of it in a real Scrooge-ish mood. The crass commercialism of the Christmas season, unbelieveably, gets worse every year, it seems. We are both just at a point in our lives where we are fed up with it. The last thing either of us needs is more Things, more Crap.

So, in our three Christmases together, we have downsized it pretty far. My family, thankfully, decided to stop swapping presents among the siblings years ago, and for the nieces and nephews about that time. We still swap presents with my parents; I do make pound cakes for everyone and we always get our “goodie bag with lottery ticket” from my sister. My family still gets together sometime on Christmas afternoon, and we still all go to my aunt’s house for Christmas night dessert.

This year makes four out of the last five that I haven’t decorated. I miss it, but I don’t miss it enough to go rooting around the attic with a flashlight to find the decorations and haul them out. I won’t miss six months of digging fir needles out of the carpet — much as I love a real tree, I think it’s time to go to an artificial one. I won’t miss the excess calories from the stocking stuff, either. As a matter of fact, I think a couple of last Christmas’s stocking chocolate bars are still lurking in the freezer…

I thought we were the only ones feeling this way, but Nat on OddArts appears to have summed up my own feelings pretty well:

We have discovered as we got older that making a big deal around the holidays as adults doesn’t heal the hurts that we experienced around the holidays as kids.

Christmas in the Starter Marriage was always a huge stressor for me. That time off was supposed to be R&R and recharging for me, but it never was. This is much better.