It is 52 days until Christmas. Don’t start groaning about this being one of “those” columns because I am not a Christmas fanatic. In all honesty, I’m not much of a fan of Christmas.
I have no biological or legal claim to the people I call my parents, my family. We came to be a part of each other’s lives when I was a young adult with no place to live and no one to go to for help.
My “mum” was actually my boss who remarkably opened her heart and home to me when I was at one of the lowest points in my life. Since then, her entire family has welcomed me and made me one of their own.
I am grateful for them every single day, but the holidays are still a rough time for me no matter how much love is in my life.
It’s not that I necessarily miss my biological family, which was dysfunctional and unhealthy, but I do miss that feeling you get when you do something corny simply for the sake of family tradition.
We would make Christmas Eve a to-do with tons of yummy food, a visit from my grandparents and the singing of Christmas carols around the fire (it was the one and only time of year we would actually use the fireplace). We’d finish off the night with a game of gin rummy.
Christmas Eve is now spent with my in-laws as we stay awake until midnight to open presents. It’s my husband’s family tradition and it’s lovely but staying awake until midnight gets harder every year. Last year, we had to set an alarm and go to sleep for a few hours only to groggily open presents as midnight.
Christmas dinner is spent with my family and is, as it should be, about my nieces and nephew. It’s loud and chaotic but full of love. However, it’s also the one time of year where as much as I am one of them, I am also reminded that I’m separate. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful; it’s just a different celebration than what I grew up with.
I suppose that’s why it’s so important for my hubby and I to start traditions of our own. Last year was our first Christmas in our own home. My husband insists on a real tree, which is not practical in my mind so I insisted we buy a tree from a charity - if we have to kill a perfectly good tree, we might as well donate money to a good cause. So we went down to the YMCA to pick out a tree. The selection of trees at this particular Y left much to be desired.
We picked out what was, in all honesty, the best of the worst and headed home. In my hubby’s excitement, he bought a tree stand for a giant tree prior to purchasing a tree. When we went to set up what can only be described as a Charlie Brown Christmas tree, the trunk was too thin to be held up by the stand. We MacGyvered a towel around the trunk and managed to get it to stay upright, albeit somewhat precariously.
Things only got worse when we put the lights and ornaments on the tree as the thin, weak branches drooped heavily and the lights highlighted the bald patches. It wasn’t pretty but it was ours and it made us laugh.
This year we have a new addition to our family, a dog we rescued in February. It should be interesting to see how she responds to what I’m hoping will be a slightly sturdier tree taking over the living room.
Regardless of her response it will be special because it’s a first in the family traditions we are building for ourselves.
