'Twas the Night Be-FU Christmas

 

Are you Buddy the Elf or The Grinch?

Me? I’m Buddy the Elf about 350 days of the year. Cheerful. Kinda naïve and annoying. But the Holidays bring out The Grinch in me. While I love Christmas carols and I don’t rob houses, I CAN get puh-ritty grumpy.

I was born on December 25, 1967 on a stormy night in Canada. My parents like to tell me that I interrupted my mom’s Mah-Jongg game when it was “time to go.” Dad couldn’t see the bounds of the road, and they got stuck in a snow drift while driving to the hospital. They (WE!) were fortunate that a neighbor happened by and was able to tow them (US!) out in time, so my mom didn’t have to drop her load on a frozen Saskatoonian prairie. My Godfather was with my parents the night I arrived at the Swift Current Union Hospital. No wonder I don’t have much tolerance for drama. I was maxed out the day I was born.

Am I grumpy because I got a single Combo Christmas/Birthday present all my life? Nah, I’m not much into presents. I used to be sad that I’ve only ever had ONE “birthday party,” which happened on December 10, 1977. I was (almost) ten years old. We went to Farrell’s Ice Cream Parlor and came home, jacked up on SO MUCH SUGAR, to open presents. My best friend, Melanie Morgan, gave me the new Shaun Cassidy “Da Doo Run Run” album. It was da bomb. We made up a dance routine and practiced almost every day. Our dream was to make it onto “The Gong Show.”

I used to LOVE Christmas as a kid and had dreams of sharing these joys with my children. The excitement of a new bike. Writing letters to Santa. Finding stockings heavy with goodies on Christmas morning. My parents are immigrants, so our stockings were usually stuffed with an apple, an orange, a box of raisins, and sometimes a coveted book of Lifesavers or giant candy cane. Look at all that candy! Mmmmm….Butter Rum!

Christmas started getting stressful after we got married with the oppressive demands….I mean, generous maternal invitations….to spend Christmas at respective homes. After our kids started rolling out, this tension escalated and was often flustering. I tried hosting at our house to avoid this tug-of-war, but that just resulted in EVERYONE being cranky….mostly the woman with three small children and this not-well-thought-out idea. You know, the one who doesn’t like to cook or do housework? Whose name might rhyme with Schmisa Schmu? I bet you’ve heard of her.

After we moved to Oregon, this dilemma intensified a million-zillion-fold. We traveled down to California for Christmas for many years, contending with twice-as-expensive airline tickets, SO MANY quick-tempered travelers, and tired children who came home sick Every. Single. Time. ALL WAS NOT CALM! ALL WAS NOT BRIGHT!

This all changed after a fateful trip in 2009. A surprise snowstorm in Portland threw the whole region into hysterics. Meanwhile, the Fu Household was experiencing parallel madness as we prepared to travel with three young children on Christmas Eve. Albert strapped chains on our minivan, and we allowed TWO HOURS to travel to the airport. Now, I know you Southern Californians are like, “ONLY TWO HOURS??” OK, so let me explain ANOTHER reason Portland is a much funner place to live than Camarillo. The airport is an easy 20 miles away. Thirty minutes. And we have excellent food at non-jacked-up prices, so you don’t have to pay $9 for a juice just to prevent utter starvation. And the airport doesn’t stink. IS LAX MADE ENTIRELY OF SEWAGE?? I think.

So I’m in a tizzy and Albert is worried about driving safely and being on time and OF COURSE, someone had to poop right as we were leaving. And OF COURSE this blessed, robustly well-fed child clogged the toilet, which overflowed and leaked through to the downstairs ceiling. My last nerve had already been gotten on four hours ago. I was operating on borrowed nerves! That giant turd shrank my heart to Grinchly proportions. But that was also the day I turned my back on Christmas expectations and pressures from others. And I tell you, it’s been such a relief, and I love Jesus so much more.

We spent every Christmas since then up on Mt. Hood where the air is tranquil and the wifi is unreliable. We skied on Christmas Day where we had the whole mountain to ourselves. A couple of times, Albert was on call and couldn’t ski, so I took the kids myself and came home to a beautiful Christmas dinner waiting for us. There was no need to decorate the house or put up a Christmas tree, because we weren’t even at home! Drama Level: ZERO.

But we couldn’t escape ALL of the Christmas hullabaloo that emerges around August as stores begin displaying Holiday merch. By the time December rolls around, everyone is a wreck. “I have to buy presents! I have to decorate my house! I have to cook food! I have to go to parties!”

GUESS WHAT. You don’t HAVE TO do any of those things! It’s super cool if you LIKE it, but it sure looks and sounds like most of you don’t.

I quit putting up Christmas trees after we started spending Christmases on Mt. Hood and my kids lost that lovin’ feelin’. Too much work and complaining for two weeks of a pretty tree that nobody looked at. Plus the dogs got confused and kept pooping in the living room.

A few years ago, I decided to adorn our fake ficus with a single strand of lights. We needed somewhere to put our presents. And I like the festive, minimalist decor. This didn’t entirely allow me to side-step aggravation, however, as I whacked the back of my head on the fireplace mantle this year. Imagine how many injuries I might have sustained if I spent more than 10 minutes decorating for Christmas!

Christmas is about Jesus. And I love Jesus. But *news flash* CHRISTMAS IS MADE UP. Who established the rule that we had to celebrate Christmas on December 25? Jesus wasn’t probably even born on that date! And while we give gifts to express love and maybe remember the Three Wise Men, they didn’t trample each other on Black Friday or take out loans to give more gold than they could afford or fight each other to get their hands on the hottest Frankincense and Myrrh. Pssst! You are allowed to give gifts to your loved ones ANY DAY OF THE YEAR. Jesus’s birth was celebrated quietly with a great deal of love and enthusiasm but very little fuss and stress. Except for maybe Mary. Because DUH. Birth.

I want to slow down and enjoy my nice family. I want to have the energy to savor time with the people I love most (who usually come bearing wine and sour cream coffee cake). I have enough anxiety throughout the year, and I’m ONE HUNDRED PERCENT CERTAIN that Jesus wouldn’t want unreasonable and unnecessary expectations piled on my beloved soul. It is my intention to celebrate the birth of Jesus every day of the year, not just on the contrived day that someone told me to.

There’s so much pressure to spend money and BE MERRY. What if it’s 1983 and you wake up on Christmas in the hospital with pneumonia? Or you are in 7^th grade and you have had it UP TO HERE with the whole world and you spend most of Christmas reading a book in your bedroom with the door closed right around 1979?

Some Christmas days you are not in the mood. And some Christmases are extra sad for a whole lot of people. I already feel like a weirdo when I don’t participate in all the commotion. I imagine that the pandemonium can make some feel extra left out and extra sensitive and craving a little extra chill.

As our children grow up and and parents age, we no longer celebrate on Mt. Hood. We are in another stage of transition and will figure out something new this year.

I wish you peace, laughter and love this Holiday Season. Thank you for reading!

An excellent Combo Christmas/Birthday present would be for you to subscribe here to get new blog posts delivered right to your email inbox.