For the past four years the Christmas holiday has been nothing like it was in my youth. For two of those years we lived in Japan. Far away from family and living in a country where Christmas is, largely, a lover’s holiday, it was understandable. Christmas there involved a visit to Kentucky Fried Chicken, a handful of presents exchanged between my husband and I, a few special treats received from home, and improperly pronounced Christmas songs being sung just about everywhere. Rather than dwelling on what we were missing, we enjoyed where we were and all the novelty that entailed; all the while knowing that someday we would return to the U.S. and Christmas, as we knew it, would return as well.
But then something else happened; we had ourselves a baby. Gosh, they sure do change everything don’t they? All of a sudden we went from being kids ourselves, wanting to return to our family homes for the holidays, to wanting to create a home and some traditions for our own small, but growing, family. We decided that, from his very first Christmas, we wanted Ewan to create and develop the same strong memories that my husband and I both did.
Both of us always woke up in our own homes on Christmas morning and we wanted the same for our little one.
We were so strong and sure about our decision and while we have stuck to the plan (for two years now), and I am really glad that we have, I do find myself having some pangs of longing and sadness for the Christmases that were, that aren’t anymore, and that will likely never be again. And it is when these feelings roll over me, like a wave, that I’m left at a loss.
During my years at home, Christmas and chaos were synonymous. With divorced parents (both remarried) and multiple families to visit, my calendar was always packed with visits and outings and presents and a whole lot. A whole lot of everything.
My dad and step-mom always hosted a large party with our large extended family and it wasn’t uncommon to have more than 20 people in our home, drinking and eating and celebrating. Before the guests arrived there was cooking and cleaning and ironing. A little bit of stress, sometimes a lot. But, that was Christmas. That was the Christmas I knew, and that is the Christmas that I miss.
Compare that to this year. The three of us, a little one growing larger each day in my belly, and two grandparents (my lovely in-laws). It was calm. It was quiet. It was simple and easy. It was Christmas, but yet, it wasn’t.
It wasn’t the way I remembered. The food was delicious, but different, as I begin to experiment with preparing a true holiday meal of my own. The presents, wonderful and well thought out, weren’t nearly as plentiful as I remember them being. The visitors, lovely and charming as they were, were few. The whole holiday was slow and simple, with hardly an ounce of stress.
It’s different but it was our Christmas. And, even though I found myself longing for what was at times, I think this was precisely the Christmas that I needed this year. I think this is a Christmas that I could get used to.
