In effect, we kicked Christmas’s butt, but, it seems not without some hurt feelings.

It has come to my attention that my last blog posting was seen in rather poor timing and or taste by some, which is understandable, for not everyone has my delightfully pessimistic view on the world. Never, when writing it, did I think it was anything but amusing and relatable to all the masses of the world that get stressed by the mere mention of December, but, alas I have become a “controversial blogger.” 

(A term I have assigned to myself for the sheer thrill it gives me…)   

But, as I must, due to my pesky peacemaking nature, I would like a chance to set the record straight.  My intention was never to offend, belittle or dismiss the joyful work that goes into Christmas or the true religion behind it, it was simply to express the dislike of the Christmas’s that are pushed to the commercial mainstream, a subcategory that I claim with an overzealous passion of a dedicated TV enthusiast.

Having had a small, somewhat distant family and an extremely strained relationship with religion my entire life, Christmas was all about stress for as long as I can remember.  It was about who was “taking their turn” hosting dinner, what cookies were being made, how soon you could get everything done, how much money you were spending, was everyone getting the same amount, and so on.  Never was it about simply spending time together or truly appreciating the holiness of the season.  Because of this I have become jaded in my old age.  It didn’t ever occur to me that people might actually enjoy this time of year.  Nor did I ever think that I could enjoy it.

This Christmas was a prime example.  Each event we went to was a success.  The houses were clean and beautifully, often painstakingly decorated, the food was delicious, the hosts were gracious and generous and Christmas cheer could felt in the air. 

But I was still Scrooge-like.    

The thought of dragging four kids and the massive amount of stuff they require around, forsaking naps in favor of sugar and presents and screwing with their bedtimes was enough to make me want to hop on the first plane to Tahiti. 

I couldn’t imagine that we would be able to enjoy a minute of the festivities because we would be constantly running around making sure that our hooligan children didn’t destroy entire houses. I was convinced that they would morph into tired, over stimulated, over sugared hell raisers, who would then get us blacklisted from family events due to the annoyance level that we cause.  But, as I am somewhat embarrassed to admit for it is such a rarity, I was wrong.

Each party had its own element of fun that melded together into an abstract image of my schmaltzy Christmas dreams.  Combined, we had family,  beautifully decorative Christmas trees and present openings, festive Santa hats, delicious food (a roast even!), cookie decorating contests, award ceremonies, joyous glee from children, my not having to cook or clean and enough wine, er, Christmas Cheer, to make even the Grinchiest of Scrooges sing “Deck the Halls.”

In all, Christmas this year was memorable not because of the angst it caused, but by how it made me forget my dedication to Bah-humbug for a short period of time.

Take notes 2009, this one might be hard to beat.