The peace of Christmas Day

The branch that bears the bright holly
The dove that rests in yonder tree
The light that shines for all to see
The peace of Christmas Day

I’m sitting at my desk at work.  Tonight I have to drive to Deltona; tomorrow I have to spend all day on my feet cooking, and then go to a party (which I really don’t want to go to.)  I still have two soaps to make, several presents to wrap, almost all the presents to deliver.  I don’t have enough money left to mail out the presents to out-of-towners, or give any of the charity gifts I wanted to give (although it dawns on me that I’m still allowed to donate to charity two weeks after Christmas, so that’s ok then), or even really to buy lunch for the next week…

And yet, for the first time this season, I think I’m feeling the “peace of Christmas Day” that John Denver and Kermit the Frog sing about.

I think that part of it is that the things I still have to do are planned out – and the things I can’t do are out of my hands at this point.  It is what it is.  If I haven’t been Superwoman enough for one year, oh well.

It’s a nice feeling, especially coming after the slight emotional breakdown I had the other night.  (Spouse-man teases me about breaking down in hysterical tears over something small and silly, tells me it was adorable – I think I’d be angrier at the condescension, except that when it actually happened, what he did was give me a hug, sit me down in front of my computer with a glass of raspberry soda water, and tell me “I’ll make the rest of the pretzels, you sit there and relax.”  Which pretty much saved my sanity.  So he’s allowed to tease a little.)

A note: for the first time, I fully grok – and feel qualified to use – the concept of “spoons.”  It’s been the hardest thing in the world to admit that being pregnant really has reduced my spoon-count.  I mean, I’m not sick, I’m not injured, but I DO have something that is physically going on that makes me get tired and emotional much more easily than normal, and will make me feel ill if I don’t take care of myself.  So I don’t think it’s too far off the bat to say that the breakdown was because I, quite simply, ran out of spoons.

For the record, I absolutely love Christmas.  Doesn’t matter that I’m not Christian.  I love the lights and the colors and the greenery.  I love the challenge of making or choosing presents that are unique and well-suited to the recipient.  I love the pretty wrapping papers.  I love the music – yes, even when it’s played over and over again.  I love the smells – the food and the desserts and the artificial “snow and pine” scented candles!  I love having a fire in the fireplace, even when it’s not hot.  I love Christmas movies.  I love the pageantry of it.  I love getting together with my family and acting out old traditions, things like “pizza and Scrooged night” or “the ‘gold’ vs. ‘golden’ debate” (re: 12 Days of Christmas) or “watching Dad rip his presents open like a 3-year-old.”  I love opening presents – doesn’t matter what it is, somehow between the physical sensation of taking off the paper and the knowledge that someone actually thought about me and what I’d like translates into absolute glee.  I love what Christmas symbolizes – the togetherness and cheer and love and forgiveness and hope.  Oh, I love Yule/Solstice too, love the imagery of light in the darkness and the rebirth of the year, and I wish my work schedule allowed me time to celebrate it properly… but Christmas is my holiday and always has been.  (Sorry, Ma’am.)

So now that I can finally relax, now that I’ve had my first cup of cocoa for the season and been given a peppermint-chocolate-chip cookie by a co-worker… it’s finally starting to feel like Christmas.

Merry Christmas, everyone.  And Happy Hannukah.  And Happy Yule and Happy Solstice.  And Happy Kwanzaa.  If I’m missing anything, well, have a happy one of those holidays too.  And if you’re not celebrating anything at all, then I hope you have a nice weekend.

And a Happy New Year.


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