Or… Learning to Forgive Myself as I Grieve Through the Holidays.
Late starts can really snowball into conundrums when one is as thorough with holiday decorating as I prefer to be. Correcting bad pandemic housekeeping habits runs into early tree upping (early-because-no-less-then-three-and-each-one-takes-three-days-to-set-up). The Thanksgiving break gave me the time to catch up on trees, but at a cost.
I missed a rather big to-do.
All my childhood, Thanksgiving weekend was the start of Christmas. The weekend before, we’d go get the tree and let it thaw in the garage for a week. Once we finished Thanksgiving, preparations could begin. My sisters and I each had our tasks for trimming the tree, but the best part was the outside lights.
When my husband and I bought this house, I intentionally set the tradition for lighting our home. It connected me to my family over our distances and set a landmark to declare to the world that our holidays have arrived.
Everything hit differently this year. My energy and attitude toward the preparations were taxed and troubled. This will be the first Christmas without Mom, and the impact is growing.
I’m sad that I broke tradition on the outdoor lights, but I’m happy that I made the time today. Like with the trees inside, I’ve made concessions and adjusted expectations to bring tasks into a manageable reality.
The stress is waning, the burden lightening, and my heart letting in joy!
This is a pretty decent place to be for the big holiday, I suppose.
our cattywampus cottage 