Christmas-ness
Diane teaches second grade and each and every one of the little munchkins she spends her days with have all gone nuts with what she calls “Christmas-ness.” One of the symptoms of Christmas-ness, according to her, is rolling around on the floor in the aisles between desks. “Courtney, what ARE you doing?” she asked a tiny twirler last week. The answer, says Diane, is that there is no answer; it’s just Christmas-ness.
Welcome to my world, Courtney.
Christmas-ness in its adult form shows up at first when the victim begins to have grandiose ideas of Christmas past. This year’s celebration, she thinks, will be the one everybody will always remember, filled to overflowing with warmth and sugar cookies and holly and pine.
Oh, if I could have just stopped then when I didn’t have all the boxes of decorations out on the living room floor shedding dust from the basement, where they live the rest of the year. (Have you noticed, this is what every good girl says after she gets in trouble, “If we could have just stopped before we really got started.”)
After all the wreathes and Santa Claus’s and nativity sets are out, cold reality begins to set in. After two days of decorating the family room, I’m done. This is about as far as a delusional Christmas plan ever gets me. That, and a 24-inch waist tied with a checkered organdy apron, is about all I ever see, and when I really sit down and think things through, it isn’t enough.
Now we hit the second course of Christmas-ness, which is characterized by a sense of grey, dismal, over-hanging, impending gloom. This is where I remember how many relatives and friends and milkmen and mailmen I still need to buy presents for. You bet, I started last April, just like I know you did, but people are reproducing as fast as I can buy for them.
And in April, there’s really nothing for sale anyone wants. So it turns out by December 11, all the old presents which were any good have been given away already, and the only things left are the dish towels which in the absence of a Christmas tree and garland on the light posts downtown, seemed like something people would want to find under the tree.
Oh my heck, I must have been crazy.
So yet again, I get out my credit card, and I promise myself faithfully, that next December 10th will find me with the $1200 I got from saving a mere $100 every month, and I will have more than the $17 I currently have in my wallet for all those last minute gifts.
I feel like rolling around on the floor in the aisles like Courtney. Only my aisles are the ones between the cash register in the front and the rest rooms in the back of the store.
And people, teachers even, could look at me and say, “Liz, what ARE you doing?” And I could reply that there is no answer, it’s just Christmas-ness.
Welcome to my world, Courtney.
Christmas-ness in its adult form shows up at first when the victim begins to have grandiose ideas of Christmas past. This year’s celebration, she thinks, will be the one everybody will always remember, filled to overflowing with warmth and sugar cookies and holly and pine.
Oh, if I could have just stopped then when I didn’t have all the boxes of decorations out on the living room floor shedding dust from the basement, where they live the rest of the year. (Have you noticed, this is what every good girl says after she gets in trouble, “If we could have just stopped before we really got started.”)
After all the wreathes and Santa Claus’s and nativity sets are out, cold reality begins to set in. After two days of decorating the family room, I’m done. This is about as far as a delusional Christmas plan ever gets me. That, and a 24-inch waist tied with a checkered organdy apron, is about all I ever see, and when I really sit down and think things through, it isn’t enough.
Now we hit the second course of Christmas-ness, which is characterized by a sense of grey, dismal, over-hanging, impending gloom. This is where I remember how many relatives and friends and milkmen and mailmen I still need to buy presents for. You bet, I started last April, just like I know you did, but people are reproducing as fast as I can buy for them.
And in April, there’s really nothing for sale anyone wants. So it turns out by December 11, all the old presents which were any good have been given away already, and the only things left are the dish towels which in the absence of a Christmas tree and garland on the light posts downtown, seemed like something people would want to find under the tree.
Oh my heck, I must have been crazy.
So yet again, I get out my credit card, and I promise myself faithfully, that next December 10th will find me with the $1200 I got from saving a mere $100 every month, and I will have more than the $17 I currently have in my wallet for all those last minute gifts.
I feel like rolling around on the floor in the aisles like Courtney. Only my aisles are the ones between the cash register in the front and the rest rooms in the back of the store.
And people, teachers even, could look at me and say, “Liz, what ARE you doing?” And I could reply that there is no answer, it’s just Christmas-ness.
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