Parenting Australia

Reflections of a Christmas Survivor

I usually wait until December 1 (okay Dec 20), to launch into Christmas. Do it every year. Big mistake. Not this year though! After reflecting on last year’s “efforts” I have cracked the code that has evaded me to date, and now know the secret to surviving Christmas.

In January of this year, as the last twist of tinsel fluttered off the potted ficus outside and the remaining scrap of honey ham got tossed to the neighbour’s dog, I pondered the Season just passed. It held its usual can of surprises.

Surprise no. 1 – it’s Christmas Eve already??

Surprise no 2 - you can’t be sold out of turkey - it’s only Christmas Eve!

Surprise no. 3 - you’ve invited who for Christmas lunch?
Mihiri Udabage

Surprise no. 4 – what do you mean they don’t eat turkey…and ham…and cranberries??

Surprise no. 5 – Ebay sellers are not prepared to close their auctions early, even to help out desperate parents at 11pm on Christmas Eve who can’t put the kids’ new bikes together and are willing to travel to the Central Coast to buy a replacement, already assembled.

Surprise no.6 – Neighbours have hidden talents, like being able to assemble kids’ bikes at 11pm on Christmas Eve …

And on and on.

So another festive season crept up on me insidiously, whipped me up into the eye of its storm and landed me unceremoniously on the other side. Why does this happen time and again? I’ve had plenty of cracks at getting it right, Christmas does roll around year after year after all. But why does the circus roll around with it every year? Easter never does this to me.

Thinking back to the beginning of the last Christmas season, it started with the arrival in the letterbox of our first Christmas card – “wishing you and yours a peaceful and joyous Christmas”. I felt the first soft smile on my face in months. I, of course, sent back a card wishing them and theirs a wonderful season surrounded by family and friends. Ahhh, the serenity…

The children started coming home from school with mangled messages of love on crumpled painted doilies. My heart sang.

My accountant wore a flashing tie that sang The Twelve Days of Christmas and he wished me happy holidays. My hunched up shoulders released themselves, the first time ever since the beginning of the new financial year.

The TV lifestyle programs were all about achieving easy Christmas cheer for under $50.

Then came the TV personalities, wishing me a happy and safe Christmas and goodwill to all. Thanks Kerrie-Anne and Kochie, I really appreciated that.

The kids dug out the Christmas carols CD and I was lulled into a false sense of serenity with the strains of Silent Night and Joy to the World.

The postman who usually throws my mail at me from no. 57 across the road wished me a merry Christmas. (At what other time of year do you ever hear a grown man say “merry”?).

Reflecting on all this, I can now explain the reason for the Christmas mayhem that I find myself in year after year. I blame the Christmas vernacular. It’s the lingo, the words, the phrases, the songs, that are universal and unique only to this time of year. It’s the language that gets tossed around like flighty fairy floss and makes you believe in a fat man flying and peace on earth. It bathes you in its warm waters and relaxes you to the point whereby you’ve been so relaxed about everything it’s brought you to the point of severe unpreparedness (See Surprise No. 1 above).

Your Honour, I put it to you that it is the language of Christmas that is at the root of every mismanaged festive season.

Every Christmas I have been a relaxed and hapless victim of the Christmas vernacular. Lulled into believing that Christmas cheer would simply lift me on its wings and land me in happy Christmas land. What I really needed to hear was “happy slaving away at the stove for hours” or “merry holidays spent battling strollers and throngs of people in narrow shopping aisles” or “have a safe trip - to the supermarket at 10pm on Christmas Eve to take on old man McManEater for the last frozen turkey breast in the freezer”. This is the language that would have gotten me hurtling towards the Christmas juggernaut way back in September.

This Christmas, I’m going to do it differently.

I’m going to tape up the letterbox from now so as not to receive any uplifting messages in Christmas cards. Also, that way the postman won’t have the chance to say anything nice to me.

I’ll turn off the TV next week and turn it on again in February.

I’m going to remind myself that the lady from Crisco’s who’s telling me that she’s taken all the hassle out of Christmas is not talking to me, because I was too relaxed last year to sign up.

I bought a Led Zeppelin CD and have been whipping myself into a frenzy since October.

I’ll avert my eyes when my accountant approaches, ties ablazing.

I am going to be so organised and prepared through my newfound verbal coaching method I’ll probably have ready for sale a DVD and instructional manual, available at all reputable $2 shops.

And to prove to you how much this works, may I be the first to wish you a frantic, frenzied, frenetic, harried, hurried, harassed …..and merry Christmas!

What are your tactics for surviving the Christmas frenzy? Share your thoughts in the comments box below.

___________________________________

Mihiri Udabage is a 30-something mother of two, now feeling old enough to use terms like 30-something. She loves Sundays more than Saturdays but is grateful for both. She hates ironing. In between growing up two little citizens, Mihiri spends time working on her on-line Fair Trade and Organic business www.generationwonder.com, volunteering for global charity Room to Read, doing canteen duty at school, and entering Fun Runs she has no hope of actually running. Mihiri has a husband who thinks she is loopy but who supports her anyway. She wishes she had written Twilight but acknowledges that could never happen because she can never remember her dreams. However, Mihiri is about to enrol in a screenwriting course that will see her write a movie that will knock Twilight for a six. Mihiri continues to dream...

Add Comment

Name

Email (will not be published)

Personal Web site/Blog URL

Subject

Comment

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

Enter the letters you see in the image.

Click to get a new image.