The holidays are coming. I can feel them barreling toward me with the speed of one of those fancy Japanese trains that float on magnets and go like three hundred miles an hour. Of course, the train type doesn’t really matter. Amtrak or coal trains will both kill you just as dead.
Yes, death and trains. That’s the holiday metaphor I went with. That should tell you all you need to know about how I’m feeling about this upcoming season.
I think one of the most unfair parts about being an adult is that we no longer get to enjoy the seasons like we did as children. For adults, time compresses until you’re blinking through the seasons like you’re in an H.G. Wells time machine. And with that as a backdrop it’s easy to go down the trail of “Why put up holiday decorations when it’s just going to be over in a minute?”
But I’m putting my foot down. Christmas will be enjoyed. There will be décor. I might even décor it up pre-Thanksgiving. Holiday rules be damned. And I’m banning guilt. Didn’t buy someone a present? Well, presents aren’t obligatory. Didn’t bring a potluck dish? How fortunate that some other mom showed off and made extra. Decided not to do the holiday shuffle between in-laws and stay at your house in the morning? Tough cookies, Grandma. The stockings are still up, the munchkin will still get sugar-high, you can wait the extra hour.
You know what else I’m going to do over the holidays? I’m going to read at least one book. I used to enjoy doing that before I tried to have kids, see my husband periodically, and write all the words into new books. I’m going to pick out something awesome, probably fluffy, and enjoy the crap out of it.
That is my Holiday Manifesto. Who’s with me?