Our Boy thinks the silly Elf sitting up on the shelf is cute. He's asked us to get one, but you see, I just can't. I really just can't. Sure it could be fun, but really, I just can't. There's no wrong way or right way to do this stuff and I'm not saying you shouldn't. I'm just saying we don't (not this year, anyway).
Each year I wrestle Christmas kind of like the folks who fling theirs up on the roof of their car. I start out all excited and then eventually I get a bit deflated from the reality of what it really means.
I avoided shopping this year. Plain ol' dragged my feet. And then I looked at the calendar and realized that honest and truly there might not be any gifts under the tree, especially if I didn't shop right that very day.
When I'm afraid to do something for one reason or another, I tend to delay. I tighten my jaw and fake a headache. And in the process, I've given myself one. Because, finding excuses is really no fun.
I'm leaning more into the truth these days and I'm more willing to accept it all, completely and wholly as it is -- even me as I am.
I'm accepting that comfort is something I'd prefer, just like Mary did, I'm sure. And that instead, Christmas came in the stalls with what stinks.
When our own dear child is the reason for our day to be a head-scratcher, or a belly-acher, or a throat-hurter . . . we've still got a job to do and so does he. As much as I want to delay having to discipline and put a thumbtack in it for a few weeks from now, the kid's still got to learn and we've still got to teach.
Christmas isn't for my comfort and ready or not, I still have so much to learn about letting Christmas simply be.