Why I hate Christmas.

I don’t hate holidays.  Just Christmas.  I actually happen to LOVE Halloween, I think it’s fabulous having one day where we can all be someone (or something) else.  Take on a whole new persona, or just take advantage of the opportunity to wear your pajamas all day.  Not to mention candy and tasty treats everywhere, now who can complain about that?

But Christmas…. Ugh.

Don’t get me wrong.  I absolutely love giving.  I live for helping others.  I just don’t want to be obligated to give gifts on a specific day.  That makes it like a chore; a job with a deadline, and completely destroying any meaning behind it.  There is the stress of knowing Christmas is just around the corner and needing to get my shopping done, fighting crowds at the store as well as what seems like inflated prices after the Black Friday insanity (which I stay FAR away from).  I want my gifts to have meaning, and not necessarily monetary value, but sentimental value.

I give things to the people I care about throughout the year, without having to stress about it.  For example, over the summer I was at Sears picking up an air compressor I’d purchased for myself.  While waiting on the employee to grab it from their holding area, I browsed through the tools.  I noticed a set of sockets that were adaptable to size and could extract bolts with rounded heads as well.  I thought my dad could use a good new set of sockets, so I bought them and gave them to him when I saw him a couple weeks later.

Now I didn’t get him anything for Christmas, but I think he enjoyed his socket set that he used all summer more than he would have enjoyed a gift boxed set of Christmas mugs.




Some of the best lessons are learned in the oddest places.

Yesterday I was doing some cleaning and I found a rouge piece of Halloween candy in a boot.  It was a blue salt water taffy, and my mouth watered just looking at it.

So I picked it up only to find that it was cold and hard, due to having resided near the drafty front door for the last two months.  I would not be discouraged, however, because as a woman I happen to possess two portable heaters.  So I stuffed it in my bra and continued my cleaning.

Fast forward to this morning.  It had been a long night and when I finally crashed, I crashed hard, only to be woken early by a holiday gift from Aunt  Flo; Christmas cramps.

I stumble my way to the coffee pot to get my liquid life support brewing, and head to the bathroom to sit on the “thinking chair” and wait for my advil to kick in.

As I sit with my head rested on the sink,  waiting for the pain and agony to subside, I catch a glimpse of blue and remember that mouth watering taffy.  For a moment the pain disappears, as my thoughts are filled with sweet deliciousness.

My spirit is lifted as I grasp the now perfectly warm and gooey piece of blue perfection.  Nearly giddy with excitement as I start to unwrap it…….

The unthinkable happens.  I drop it.  In movie quality slow motion, my hands fumble awkwardly trying to catch it as it swirls downward like water being drained from a bathtub. My efforts in vain, I let out a defeated howl as my savory blue morsel disappears between my legs and hits the water with a splash.

My heart sinks along with my piece of blue salt water taffy.  I rest my head on the sink once more and take a moment of silence as the pain again takes over.

It’s going to be a long day.

However, in our brief time together, I learned two things.

1. Saving something for later isn’t always the best open, because you could end up with less than you started with.

2.  Enjoy the little things, but enjoy them now, because they might not be around tomorrow.

Happy holidays, everyone.

If you aren’t the victim, then you are the perpetrator.

I hate the holidays.  They always catch me off guard and scare me, much like my boyfriend does when he hides behind the door waiting for me to walk into the room.

I didn’t realize it was two days before Christmas until my mom left me a message on my phone to call her and let her know when I’d be there for Christmas Eve dinner.  This year I’m feeling less festive and cheery than usual, due in part to issues that have arisen between my teenage son and I.  He has been lying, stealing, being destructive, not obeying, and having a general “I don’t care about anyone or anything” attitude.

On an unrelated note, I don’t think tracking collars should only be legal for animals.  More on that another time.

Anyways, I called my mother back to tell her I really hadn’t decided if I was going anywhere for Christmas because it was most likely illegal for mentally unstable people to drive.  She asked if I had gotten my Christmas shopping done.  I told her that I had, but I only bought my son one small gift this year.

Hearing her utter shock through the phone, I let her know that last week I caught my son stealing money from me, and that had basically killed any Christmas spirit left in me for this season.

But if there had been any shred of Christmas spirit left in me after that, my mom destroyed it with her reply:

“Well, you should have put your money where he wouldn’t find it.  Start counting your money, and put a note with it that says you know exactly how much is there and that he had better not take any.”

With that  statement it was clear that I was the guilty one, the victimizer, the perp, the instigator.  He was merely a victim of my careless and reckless behavior.  Shame on me.  I mean, how could I possibly blame him for taking my money, when I clearly hadn’t put it in a safe enough place.

First off, contrary to what my mom apparently thinks, I don’t leave my cash taped to the front door.  What little cash I keep is always in my zipped deposit bag, which is always in my shoulder bag.  Had it been a stranger who dug into my bag and took my cash, it would have been called a robbery.  Yet since it was my own son, it’s somehow different?

Secondly, the fact that I am supposed to leave a note with my money indicates that she expects for him to continue going through my bag on a regular basis, and I need to be ok with that.  This is absolutely mind blowing to me.  Osteoporosis must be setting in, because it appears my mom has lost her spine.  If I had stolen money from her when I was 13, my butt would have spatula imprints on it for a week.  However, that didn’t happen because I had already received spatula imprints earlier on for stealing a toy from a coin machine, and I NEVER stole anything ever again.

This makes me understand in part, where society has gone wrong.  We’ve allowed our children to grow up perceiving themselves as the victim, and the parent as the perpetrator, no matter the circumstance.  This has led to a level of entitlement in the youth that has gotten to the point of being dangerous.  It has caused parents to be arrested for attempting to punish their children.  It has led  young people to protest an election they never even voted in, by burning up a car for having a sticker on it.

Let me repeat that so it sinks in.  Lighting a car on fire and burning it to the ground because it had a sticker on it.  So they are using their freedom of expression to burn a car, but wasn’t the owner of the car just using his freedom of expression by having the sticker on his car?  Yet, the car owner is the perpetrator for having the sticker on his car.

I don’t know how to fix this backwards society, but I do think it will get worse before it gets better.  As for my son, I guess I’ll just have to figure out a way to level the playing field.