Wednesday, December 7, 2011

You can't make me

I love Christmas.

Of course, these days it's really more of a love/hate relationship. This year especially.

I'd probably be fine with skipping it altogether to be honest.  If I could wake up one day and it magically be January, that would be perfectly acceptable in my universe.  Just don't need it this time around.

It's the first one without my Dad, the first one with my Mom here.  The only things the kids really want are things we can't afford to get them.   Then there are all the other reasons, the ones I won't write about.

Christmas would be so much more fun if it wasn't encumbered with all the emotional baggage.  Thanks to the train wreck that is my life, I got a whole brand new set of luggage this year.

I walked into the family room after dinner last night, only to see that my husband was watching the Michael Buble Christmas Special.  I cringed a little.

He, unlike me, still 100% unabashedly loves Christmas.  Even though I know a part of him probably shouldn't see it the same way anymore because of that luggage set I got this year.

He started listening to the Christmas radio stations the first day they started airing the music.  He changed the ringer on my phone to Jingle Bell Rock, which thankfully is one of the less offensive songs he could have picked.  He's determined to make me joyful, dammit.

I sat down beside him last night and suffered through the hour long happy fest.

As if I was saying, I'll sit here and watch this, but you can't make me like it.

I like Michael Buble, really I do.  It's the heartfelt warm fuzzy that I could do without.  The cheese.

I love Christmas, but I can't stand the cheesiness of it sometimes.

Clearly, I haven't found my Christmas spirit yet.  I'll keep looking.

Unfortunately, the things I've always relied on to get me there in the past probably aren't going to work this year.  Usually it only takes watching National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation or The Christmas Story to do it.  And they've worked for many years, but this one might be different.  They were Dad's two favorite Christmas movies.

A few years ago, I got him a nightlight shaped like The Major Award.  Never mattered how many times he saw those movies, he laughed every single time.

I guess I need to take some advice from Clark Griswold himself,

Where do you think you're going? Nobody's leaving. Nobody's walking out on this fun, old-fashioned family Christmas. No, no. We're all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here. We're gonna press on, and we're gonna have the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye. And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he's gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse.

It's not that far off, really.

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